One Human, One Spark
by Whozawhatcha
Summary: What would have happened if Bulkhead DID die? Wheeljack learns hard lessons about taking care of his new human friend, and maybe likes her spunk at times . . . But what happens when a plan for revenge is hatched? Getting tangled up with a femme and the importance of memories making you who you are. War stories, detonations, protoform sleepovers, Wheeljack/Arcee, Bulkhead, Miko.
1. A Different Ending

**Author's Note:**

**When I first started this story, I was still a rather, eh, raw writer, I think. I was just thrilled that I had made some awesome one-shot. Then, several people asked me to continue it, and so I did. I was curious at the attention it got, and I thought, "Hey, it'll be fun to distract myself with" and took to writing several more chapters. Besides, other than Ratchet, Wheeljack was my favorite character.**

**In short... I'm completely and utterly amazed at the story I have churned out. I've given the characters backgrounds, I rounded them out, the story is full of emotional twists and turns, the characters have their ups and downs, the relationships have their soft moments but also have their fights, and the undercurrents of mature themes (i.e. drinking, Asian heritage, relationships, revenge) are expanded on greatly, much more so than I would have originally intended. At first this was a K+ rated story, but I've upped it for the mature themes and mild swearing.**

**As such, I think that this is actually one of those stories worth reading. If you like Wheeljack, this is definitely a story that's gonna make you like him more. And if you're a Miko hater, well... Maybe I can get you to change your mind about her ;)**

* * *

><p>"Ha-ha, Jackie's back!"<p>

That had been Bulkhead's excited crow for seeing the ol' Wrecker again, but as he should have expected with Wheeljack, that happiness came with a price. Slopes had turned slippery when his brash friend had accidentally blown up a human gas station in his eager drive to finally take down Dreadwing. It only got worse when his independent buddy had butted heads with Optimus because he wasn't used to taking orders—a Wrecker had a Wrecker's pride, after all, and Bulkhead knew it was going to be hard for Wheeljack to take orders from anyone but the OLD big head honcho.

Instead, after a touchy medical checkup for his wounded shoulder and spitting hot words at both Optimus and Fowler, Wheeljack had stalked out to his ship in order to cool down. Bulkhead followed him into the night, seeking to soothe his friend's wired nerves.

After an unsuccessful time of trying to get Wheeljack to see the difference, Bulkhead finally turned back around to his brooding friend. "Jackie, look, even if it WEREN'T for the humans, we couldn't take on the 'Cons right now! We're out numbered!"

His pacifying words only served to stoke the angry furnace more. Wheeljack turned hard optics to him, their bright blue slashing through the dark like his words. "Roadbuster, Pyro, Impactor, Rotorstorm, Seaspray—all dust."

"That's what I'm talking about!" Bulkhead persisted, silently sharing Wheeljack's pain as each name knifed through his spark. "Wrecker OR Autobots, there just aren't that many of us left. But if we get behind Optimus, we have a chance to end this. Once and for all!"

Wheeljack's unbelieving smirk was cool—collected. "Guys like Optimus, they talk a good game." Bulkhead felt his optics widen a bit at Wheeljack's irreverent tone—borderline contemptuous. "But when you're in the scrap—they don't want to get their hands dirty."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bulkhead said to slow him down, bottling up that anger that wanted to broil up. His optics did narrow though, taking insult for his leader who had done nothing but the most gallant since he had ever known him. "You don't know Optimus like I do. Being a Wrecker meant everything to me. But I left that behind—"

"Because Prime was the real thing," Wheeljack interrupted with a harsh snap. "Blah blah blah!" Bulkhead recoiled back again at his anger. With a sickening feeling that spread through his circuits, Bulkhead realized that Wheeljack was still carrying a grudge over him leaving the Wreckers. He set his jaw.

It was interesting how meeting an old teammate went. The first time Wheeljack had shown up on Earth, it had been a fleeting encounter lasting less than a day. He had repaired his ship in record time, retreating to so-called chase the stars with his doppelganger blown to slag. This time it had been extended a bit longer as they searched down Dreadwing, but last time was different.

The first time was filled with joy, a playful fun as they had bantered while he repaired his ship. It was brief, but indulging. This time, it was . . . all manners of different conflicting emotions. Bulkhead was so sure he was have been ecstatic to have his old Wrecking buddy around again, and while he was happy, Wheeljack was too . . . centered on just taking Dreadwing down. It border lined to an unhealthy obsession, the way his optics would flare and the hate would cut deep—but Bulkhead sympathized with his grieving friend.

To know that so few Wreckers remained alive from the last days Bulkhead had been with them, traveling around in the days of rigorous fighting, protecting each other's backs, and combating in the most extreme and exulting battles . . . It tore him apart. These were the guys he had grown to love and care about just like Wheeljack, guys he trusted his life with and they in turn trusted their lives with him. To know each life had been snuffed out . . . it burned and infested deep in Bulkhead, but it burrowed itself into Wheeljack as a grudge, and one he wanted to extract revenge on.

A raspy beeping from the Jackhammer brought both Wrecker's gazes up to the ship. Bulkhead followed behind Wheeljack as the mech intercepted the transmission.

"Wheeljack," the slant of an unknown accent filled the ship. "I know you're out there listening. I have a proposition for you!"

Bulkhead could barely believe the voice he had just heard. "Is that—"

"Dreadwing," Wheeljack snarled, dentures gnashing in his strong jaw.

"Meet me at these coordinates," the soberly smug Decepticon said. "If you have the spark."

Wheeljack's cool expression didn't change, though there was a slightly disturbing light in his optics. "I'll see you there, 'Con. Just to watch you fry."

"Jackie," Bulkhead interrupted, frowning with slight alarm when Wheeljack immediately sat down in the pilot's seat. "It's a trap!"

"I know," he said without the slightest hint of alarm. "But when has that ever stopped me?"

Accursed pride would keep him cocky to his dying breath . . . Still, Bulkhead's irritation at Wheeljack's foolishness was doused with a nostalgic side when the mech turned back with a playful grin tugging at his mouth and an old light of mischief in his optics. "You coming with?"

The shielded hope in Wheeljack's optics was undeniable, and much in a way Bulkhead found he couldn't refuse Miko anything, it was the same with Wheeljack. With a small, defeated groan, Bulkhead eased into the chair, unbelieving at the protocol he was breaking.

"At least let me call for backup," Bulkhead protested a little, not wanting to get too far on Optimus's bad side . . .

However, that thought was wiped from his mind too when Wheeljack's blue optics returned to him with a cocky challenge of, "You know Wreckers don't call for backup . . ."

Bulkhead couldn't help it—here in this ship with his oldest buddy, and that innocent look of playfulness in his optics while he taunted him with one of the most nostalgic lines in Wrecker history, Bulkhead felt his will crumble. Unable to deny Wheeljack of a short joy-trip—anything to make him happy—Bulkhead relaxed into a familiar grin, optics sparking and biting down on his bait. Wheeljack's optics caught his willingness, and a grin cracked through his face too.

"They call for clean up!" they crowed together. Bulkhead immediately threw his hand towards Wheeljack's clasping their servos in a way he hadn't done for years.

Boy, it felt good to be back!

Of course, only a couple hours later Bulkhead was beating himself up for not taking that course of action to get some backup.

With his arms pinned by electric stasis cuffs to metal boxes stacked high, Bulkhead heaved a sigh, looking down on the bomb strapped to his chest. Well, more like fused. The wires encased him like a web. He had tried to jam his signal from shouting out his location—he knew he was the trap for Optimus and Wheeljack, and it didn't set well with him. Dreadwing was planning something nasty.

Instead, Bulkhead hung his head, feeling dumber than he had for years. How many times had he heard it before? How many times had he heard it! _Engaging the enemy on your own is foolish, Bulkhead._ Optimus's words rang over and over in his head and Bulkhead's obviously empty promise of, _"It won't happen again, Optimus."_

Bulkhead groaned, struggling against his bonds for several frustrated seconds before giving it up with a snarl. This was his fault. If he had just listened to his gut instinct—no, the smarts Optimus had always been trying to teach him—this wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't be strapped to a bomb, his friends wouldn't be running towards their inevitable doom, and Primus knew what else.

Fixated helplessly with the bomb cheerily ticking away on his chest, Bulkhead's spark contracted painfully. Miko. Out of everyone, her name hadn't crossed his mind today with the excitement of having Wheeljack back, but now he felt guilt tighten around his spark. By the All Spark, the forgiving Primus above had to know he couldn't leave that poor girl hanging! She needed him!

Bulkhead struggled again, jerking against the bonds that held him while the bomb steadily ticked away his last minutes alive. He groaned, slumping again in defeat. "Oh, Miko, I'm so sorry . . . Argh, Primus, why am I so dumb!" Bulkhead thrashed against his bonds again, fighting futilely with the reminder of the small human he had grown to care for so much. She needed him! There was no one who understood her like he did! Who was there to give her the extra push she needed for school? Who was there to listen to her rants about the mean girls at school? Who was there to bang his head and indulge in her speed metal that no one else liked? Who was there for her whenever she needed him, to support her, to show devotion she sure didn't get from her host parents?

Groaning again, Bulkhead gave up, despair eating its way through his cold front. After all they had been through . . . Sweet little Miko. Headstrong, but that was how she had to be. She couldn't function any other way because she was just like Bulkhead. She carried the softest heart Bulkhead had met in anyone, and she had to cover it up with a radical and willful front so no one could break her down and hurt her. Bulkhead was sure he was the only one she would willfully share herself with, and it ripped him to shreds to know that he had failed.

He'd miss her smile. He'd miss her laughter and her excited shrieks, and the sound of her voice mimicking her air guitar and screaming out unintelligible lyrics. He'd miss her bringing her homework out to work in his backseat; he'd miss trying to help her with it even though it just left them both more frustrated than imagined. They shared their pain.

Bulkhead felt suspicious wetness seeping out of his optics. Dear Primus, he still had those stains on the inside of his floor mats where she had thrown up when he had battled Decepticons with her still inside his chest! A bittersweet pang shot through Bulkhead's spark. She had tried so hard to get the stains out and when she couldn't, proceeded to give him the most thorough wash he had ever experienced in his lifetime with both tender and playful touches.

And that time in those old Decepticon mines . . . His spark twisted painfully again. Dear Primus, it was a terrifying experience to come so close to losing her. He could still hear her labored breaths trying to push aside that mountain of rocks herself, as if she could possibly save them both when she was so innocently fragile. He could still hear her voice rasping and her desperate gasps for air when the oxygen continued to be used up from the confined space thick with dust.

Bulkhead's spark writhed with the remembrance of how he hadn't cared how much he would strain his arms from holding up those rocks. Primus, he'd do it all over again, no matter the cost. He would have held up the entire world, the entire universe on his shoulders, a metal version of Atlas if it would have spared Miko that day. But he still had to endure the horror of watching her waste away right at his feet; he still had to watch the fear and despair break her down into that vulnerable state she hated so much.

And then—the gall Starscream had to terrorize her further! If Bulkhead's hands had been free he was sure he would have strangled the seeker until he begged for mercy and then proceeded to snap his pathetic neck anyways! The hatred still burned deep, but it was dampened by the solemn pressure of a ticking bomb on his chest.

Bulkhead's restrained hands clenched tight. Dear Primus . . . her tears . . . When she thought she was going to lose him . . . Bulkhead's metal shuddered until it tinkled together. Primus knew he would carry the weight of those tears wherever he went. They haunted him to this day, mocking him as death waited within the next long minutes where the bomb would explode and truly take him away. A moan left Bulkhead's vocals at the thought of the pain he would cause her.

Instead, he heard footsteps. The guys! Bulkhead's helm shot up as he waited for them as they came closer, the beeping signaling that they were tracking him. He watched Wheeljack and Optimus come around the corner, both their eyes widening in shock.

_ Dear Primus, don't let me be the death of them and the heartbreak of Miko . . ._

Instead, Bulkhead tried to play it off as the fearless Wrecker Wheeljack expected him to be. "H-Hey guys," he said, trying not to stutter as thick fear clotted his vocal processor together.

Wheeljack's gaze flattened. "Scrap."

"Oh, boy . . ."

This wasn't good—he was meant to be here as bait! Dreadwing WANTED them to sit here and try to diffuse the bomb so it would take them all down!

However, Wheeljack just waltzed up with the easiest of ease, saying with a slight smirk, "You really got yourself in a heap of scrap this time, partner."

Primus no—! They wouldn't be taken too! "Stay back, Jackie!" he tried to ward off the Wrecker, but the dominantly white mech didn't care.

He gave a slight shrug, optics honing in on the bomb strapped to Bulkhead's chest. "Better get to work," was all he said.

Optimus's blue optics zeroed in on him. "Have you diffused one of these before?" he asked strictly.

Bulkhead watched as Wheeljack touched the bomb, moving a latch he hadn't noticed that popped it wide open. Wheeljack did a double take at all the parts, muttering all sorts of things, " . . . dummy leads . . . booby traps . . ." His optics were impressed by the workmanship of the bomb, but overshadowed by a slice of worry. "It's a work of art."

Bulkhead frowned as Wheeljack started in, fingers carefully moving the tiny wires around as he got a better look at it. "Jackie," Bulkhead repeated thinly, "if you don't abort, we're BOTH gonna need clean up!"

Wheeljack scoffed, unimpressed with his melodramatics while his eyes were unmoving from the wiring. "Trying to focus here, Bulk."

Bulkhead clenched his jaw. Fine, he'd let him play it his way for a little while, but if he couldn't . . . Bulkhead looked up, and his thought pattern was interrupted.

"Where's Optimus?"

Wheeljack jumped, turning around, but he returned to the bomb with a black scowl that seeped the words _"I was right!"_

"It's like I told you," he muttered to Bulkhead. "When the scrap hits the fan blades, the generals are the first to bail."

Bulkhead let his optics harden, undisputable in who his allegiance fell to. "No," he said flatly. "Not Optimus."

Wheeljack scoffed again, but didn't say anything more as he focused on dismantling the explosives attached to Bulkhead's chest. Bulkhead waited tensely, watching the numbers ticking down so swiftly, a constant reminder that they held only a certain amount of time.

Finally, when it dipped below the five minute mark, Bulkhead broke down again, unable to take the rising tension. "Get out of here already!" he urged him, fighting the quaver in his voice.

"I didn't leave you on Sandakan," Wheeljack reminded him with steel in his voice, "and I'm NOT leaving you here!"

The faint blaster fire in the distance became more and more pronounced. "Face it," he growled at the stubborn mech before him. "There's only one bot that can diffuse this mess and his name's Dreadwing!"

When a blast rocked closer to them, Wheeljack's head turned. Bulkhead's spark stopped. He knew his Jackie. And Primus forbid it, Wheeljack wouldn't give up on Bulkhead to the last second—if he didn't diffuse the bomb, he'd die trying.

"Blaster fire's getting closer," he muttered, eyes slanting away to look hard for the two fighting mechs. Bulkhead's desperation gave him the strength he needed, and Wheeljack never saw it coming. "As if the commander's—"

Wheeljack's sentence was caught in a garbled cry when Bulkhead let him have a right hook so powerful it knocked the unsuspecting mech back several feet, causing him to glitch briefly and sprawl on his back. Tearing his other arm loose, uncaring of how it strained his arms, Bulkhead dashed past Wheeljack before he could get his bearings.

"Sorry Jackie," he threw over his shoulder, resisting the urge for anything more. "It's cause I love ya."

He couldn't even spare a glance back at the mech but took off running. He weaved in between the metal boxes stacked high, determined to lose Wheeljack who was shouting out for him to stop. Bulkhead's gaze flattened. He wasn't going to let his best friend sacrifice himself for him. He wasn't worth it—just another shallow soldier compared to the genius of Wheeljack? No. He would never allow it.

Dashing through the maze of boxes, Bulkhead heard Wheeljack's steps receding, and with a flop of his spark he realized he had lost him. Pumping his shorter legs hard, Bulkhead's fear stuffed tightly in his throat as shallow little gasps vented from his system.

He was running straight to death. It was a foreboding ending, and one Bulkhead hated with every vibe of his being. With a despairing wrench of his spark, he couldn't shake Miko's face from his mind or Wheeljack's cocky grin. Their laughter rang in the memory of his audio receptors, and the whine of an electric guitar and the crash of a lob.

With a hard tremble through his stocky frame, Bulkhead shook his central processor clear. No, he was doing this to save a friend—

_ No matter how it will crush another?_

Bulkhead shook the morbid thoughts free. His death was inevitable. The least he could do was save another.

Bulkhead felt the coolant running through his system jump at the sight of the docks before him, the waiting sea of the ocean. He cringed into himself, trying to lighten his mood a little with, "Sorry fishies!"

However, he wasn't expecting a white mech to drop in between him and his objective, though after so many years of knowing Wheeljack, he should have known it.

"Bulkhead, wait!"

Bulkhead gnashed his dentures together, optics narrowing. He didn't stop his charge, but rather heightened it. "Get out of my way!"

Both mechs smashed together, and Bulkhead drove against Wheeljack, pushing the Wrecker back his determination was so much. He was NOT going to let him sacrifice himself for him!

"Will you listen to me, Bulk!" Wheeljack roared at him, sensing his friend's desperation as if it was his own—and it was. Wheeljack drove against Bulkhead with all his might, shouldering each other like football players until they screeched to a halt, the tip of his toes nearly slipping off the edge and into the water.

"You were right!" he barked at him, blue optics blazing frenetically. "Dreadwing is the only one who can diffuse it! And Optimus knows it too."

Bulkhead's gaze followed Wheeljack's up to where Optimus was lithely scaling the buildings. By a tug from Wheeljack, they both made themselves sparse of the area, taking cover and hiding as Dreadwing's heavy steps approached.

Utter silence blanketed them for long seconds. Each footfall of Dreadwing was firm—precise. He was on the hunt, but unfortunately for him, he didn't look up.

Optimus's angry war cry shouted out as he dropped the shipping crane on top of the Decepticon, pinning him to the floor with clean vengeance. Bulkhead and Wheeljack came out, and the thought crossed Bulkhead's mind—how would they manage this?

"Dreadwing," Optimus stated with steel backing his voice, "diffuse the bomb, or fall victim to your own device."

Bulkhead jolted—that wasn't the plan! What, he was going to let him blow up both himself and the 'Con? At least he could take out a 'Con as he went, but it still caused shivers to crawl up his spine.

Dreadwing didn't blink. "I will gladly sacrifice myself to avenge my brother."

Optimus nodded. "Then we will, in turn, gladly join the All Spark with OUR brother."

"And with you," Wheeljack spat. He crossed his arms. "You'll never shake us."

Bulkhead stiffened, watching the resolve harden in his two friends. Uncertain, he looked in between them and the bomb still ticking and firmly strapped to his chest, threatening to detonate if even tried to be removed. The slow minutes ticked by, and nothing was heard but the sinister beeping of the bomb.

Finally, when Bulkhead was sure it was going to detonate and destroy them all, a quietly enraged voice finally hissed, "Very well."

Optimus and Wheeljack snapped into action, pulling the heavy crane claw off the pinned Decepticon. However, when he Decepticon surged to his feet, none of them had time to react or the proximity to stop him.

A powerful punch staggered Bulkhead back, and before Optimus could so much as transform his hands to guns, the Decepticon ran like a whipped puppy, transforming and flying off. Ignoring his ringing processor, Bulkhead looked at Optimus who open fired at the fleeing Decepticon and Wheeljack's ugly sneer; he looked back to the bomb, still ticking on his chest, seconds left.

The last seconds—he had to make them count!

Taking advantage of both bots being preoccupied, Bulkhead slugged Wheeljack as hard as he could, felling the bot in one blow. Before Wheeljack could recalibrate and fight back, Bulkhead had picked up his best friend and hurled him into the surprised Optimus, leaving them entangled in a mess of arms and legs.

"Sorry guys!" Bulkhead cried out, adrenaline pumping in his veins. He darted to the edge. "Tell Miko I love her!"

He didn't think twice, but he leapt into the ocean and dove as deep as he could, spark pounding in his chest so hard he thought it would detonate the bomb prematurely. Lubricant leaked from his eyes, but it just mingled with the salty ocean water.

Wheeljack . . . Optimus . . . and the team . . .

Miko.

His spark slashed itself to mere shreds as a sob caught in his throat. The countdown stopped.

If only that girl knew how much of a daughter she had become for him—

Wheeljack shoved Optimus off of him, hearing the splash as Bulkhead's body hit the ocean surface.

"Bulkhead! No!"

He dashed towards the ledge, but he barely managed three strides before an explosion rocked beneath his feet, sending him crashing to the ground and a fountain of water to shoot upwards. The spray washed across Wheeljack and Optimus, and the Wrecker found his jaw going slack. He stared, uncomprehendingly as Bulkhead fell offline before agony tore across his sensors.

"BULKHEAD!"

The howl ripped from his throat, and his fists smashed into the concrete, creating deep fissuring cracks in the cement, not unlike his spark. Rage blinded his sensors. Pain left him bleeding.

_Broken._

Wheeljack ignored the lubricants speeding down his face. "I'll kill you, 'Con!" his raw voice bellowed to the empty skies. "I'll find you again! Run all you like, but when I get my hands on you, I'll tear out your spark!" A harsh sob gritted through his clenched teeth, and his hands curled into fists of steel. A servo snapped to his side to the one grenade he carried on his waist. He fisted it in his palm, a grip so tight he nearly crushed it in his clutch.

His blue optics glazed over in terrible hate, his body trembling violently with the urge to get the 'Con's energon on his servos. _One grenade, one shot._

Vile malignance dyed his spark black. The knife skewed through the remains of his spark when he saw pieces of Bulkhead's body float to the surface. _One bomb, one life._

Wheeljack's optics bled with mindless determination for vengeance. _One grenade, one life._

He shook with fury, tears thickening his vocals and loathing hardening him to steel.

"And I promise you, Dreadwing," he hissed. "I swear on the depths of the All Spark, THIS will be the grenade that takes you to the pit."

A gentle hand touched his tense shoulder, but Wheeljack jerked away, fire blazing in his eyes at Optimus. "I don't need another Primus-forsaken speech!" he raged at the Prime, optics narrowed to mere slits. His jaw ground hard. "I don't give a frag what the rules are on this tiny marble, I'll rip that 'Con to slag for what he's done!"

Optimus's eyes were brimming with unconcealed sorrow, and it only served to make Wheeljack angrier. He was weak! What was worse, not a general that abandoned you, but a general who didn't have the spark in him to stay strong!

"Wheeljack," he began solemnly, "before you head off on your own, I—"

"Frag off, Prime." Wheeljack trembled violently, itching with the need to destroy something—ANYTHING. His voice was naught but an angry rasp. "This is my battle, not yours."

A hint of anger flickered in the depths of those eyes, but a cool front remained. "He was my soldier, Wheeljack," Optimus reminded him, and Wheeljack hated him all the more that because his grief for Bulkhead showed again. "More than a soldier. A comrade."

Wheeljack's teeth gnashed together. "Thought you commanders weren't supposed to pick favorites," he snarled at him, venom seeping from every word. Optimus's flinch was nearly nonexistent. He turned, stalking from the Prime and towards his ship, but his voice echoed out to him.

"Wheeljack, go if you must, but promise me that as a last parting gift to Bulkhead, you will extend his last words towards young Miko."

Wheeljack rooted to the spot, chest heaving tight breath between his teeth. Primus, that fragging Prime was a menace to all that walked the face of the universe with his so subtle words and his hexing ways. Wheeljack's lips thinned. He would have made an excellent Decepticon.

"Fine," he hissed, rage broiling just beneath the surface. "But only because Bulkhead cared about her. This has nothing to do with you!"

Wheeljack proceeded back to the Jackhammer with deadly intent seeping from every core of his being. He would hunt Dreadwing until the end of his days, and by Primus, he would send that 'Con straight to the pit!

Bulkhead had died Sunday. Today was Monday, but it didn't ease the bitter taste of defeat in Wheeljack's mouth.

He waited irritably for Miko to get in from school. He shifted restlessly, planning out Dreadwing's demise while turning his grenade over in his servos, dark desires chasing through his heart. Optimus wasn't pleased, Wheeljack could tell by the bot's body language, but if he got in the way of him and Dreadwing he'd find a blade for his spark as well.

When Wheeljack's patience wore thin, he was thankful to finally hear the engine of Bumblebee and Arcee bringing the humans back from school. Miko jumped out with an audible groan, and Wheeljack's spark did a sudden flip.

They were telling her that her best friend was dead.

Guilt gripped Wheeljack's throat. Dear Primus, this was his fault! He hadn't let Bulkhead call for backup, and—

No. No, that was wrong too. They shouldn't have walked straight into a trap! Another idea that had been Wheeljack's doing—!

"Bulkhead!" Wheeljack winced at the first name off her tongue. Miko lowered her cupped hands with a wrinkle of her nose. "Where's Bulkhead?" she asked the others, neck craning back to look at them all. "I didn't expect to have to carpool—Wheeljack!"

Wheeljack watched her come, swallowing and refusing to let more than a brief flicker of greeting show. She slowed at his cold indifference.

Finally, seeing that everyone was quiet and unspeaking, she turned her brown eyes up to Optimus who approached her with heavy steps. "Optimus? What's going on?"

Wheeljack put away his grenade, crossing his arms as he watched the great Prime lower himself to one knee, shifting his hulking body so that he was closer to level with the small human. He let compassion seep from his gaze to the unsuspecting girl.

"Miko," he started in softly, gravely. "We have told you about Cliffjumper; how he was a brave and honest comrade, and one where we carry the sorrow of his death in our sparks."

Miko shifted, suddenly chafing her cold arms. "Y-Yeah . . . So, what?"

Optimus's optics tightened. "Miko, yet another of our ranks has joined in the Well of the All Spark as of last night." Wheeljack clenched his hands, jaw gritting harsh as he remembered the blast that shook him to his core, the bomb he had failed to diffuse, and that spray of water like salty tears. He watched a lump slowly move in Miko's throat as she stared uncomprehendingly at Optimus, wetness that she didn't notice rising in her eyes.

Optimus looked away a moment, unable to keep his gaze level with the guileless eyes before him. His vents expelled a gust of air as he steeled himself, sorrowing blue optics meeting Miko's again. "Miko . . ." he said softly, a hand coming to gently cup around her. "Bulkhead has—"

"NO!" Her shriek rebounded off the silo walls, shrill and hysterical with despair. Wheeljack's spark did another flop when the floodgates opened and tears streamed freely down her cheeks. "You're lying!" she shouted, voice cracking as she shoved away Optimus's comforting hand. The leader flinched. "Bulkhead would never—He's stronger than—Not Bulkhead! Not Bulkhead!"

Wheeljack's glossia fused to the top of his mouth as dread clotted thick. He watched Optimus's optic tighten in pain and worry, but he didn't raise his voice to the broken young girl. "Miko," he said softly again, "I am so sorry . . . But—"

"You're lying!" she lashed out again with a sob curdling the end of her shriek. "Bulkhead wouldn't—he promised he wouldn't leave! He promised he wouldn't leave me!"

Wheeljack felt a flash of annoyance at Bulkhead—why would he make a promise he may not be able to keep? "He's dead!" Wheeljack snapped, her tears perturbing him and making that guilt fester worse until it clawed through his insides. "Nothing's bringing him back!"

A choking sob ripped from her throat, and Wheeljack felt something knife through him when she flinched back in pain. "Not Bulkhead!" she wailed repeatedly, wetness speeding down her cheeks. "Not Bulkhead! He promised—!"

Optimus stretched his hand out to Miko when she turned on her heel and fled from the silo, her small legs carrying her through the tunnel that they had come in from. Bumblebee let out a whining coo, wings drooping.

*Should I go . . . You know . . . Try to . . .*

Arcee's eyes flicked to the doorway, and she hesitated—both girls, possibly able to get along better, but it was known that they butted heads.

Wheeljack clenched his fists, snarling to himself. They were all idiots. Transforming down into the alt mode Fowler and his superiors had drug up for him, Wheeljack followed Miko through the tunnel and to the outside.

For such a small human, she had spry legs when she was crying. She was running blindly, stumbling on the road as she swiped at the tears and mucus on her face. Wheeljack's engine gave a grumble as he caught up with her in the space of a few seconds, rolling next to her.

Miko didn't even take notice of him. However, Wheeljack found he had swallowed his glossia. What was he supposed to say? Feeling more than awkward, he finally uttered, "Hey, Miko, stop a minute."

"Get away from me!" she shouted out, voice cracking when the tears caught up with her.

He vented in frustration. How in the name of Primus was he supposed to get through to her? His spark clenched. Bulkhead would know exactly what to say . . .

Guilt clenched him tight before he forced himself to shake it off. Not giving a flying frag about who saw what anymore, Wheeljack transformed up, taking slow and tiny steps to keep up with Miko's frenzied run.

"I . . ." His thick tongue fused to the top of his mouth. Dear Primus, Bulkhead . . . He swallowed forcibly around the lump in his throat. "Miko," he whispered, "I've got to tell you something." She still didn't stop running down the open road and still couldn't stop her crying, and Wheeljack felt a surge of protection even as he felt something inside swell with heartbroken compassion. "Miko . . . Bulkhead had a message for you."

At the sound of his name Miko fell and sprawled across the ground, skinning her hands and knees. Wheeljack knelt, not giving her the chance to flee again as his hand gently scooped her up. She curled up in a ball, little sobs slipping past her lips she tried to clamp together. His spark twisted seeing the bleeding scratches on her knees and her leggings that were ripped and frayed strings.

In an uncanny way, Wheeljack felt his lips tremble. Primus knew he wasn't one for this tears business . . . Taking a breath to steady his nerves, Wheeljack licked his lips uncertainly, hand cupping protectively around Miko's tiny form.

"M-Miko . . ." he whispered hoarsely, struggling to contain his trembling, "Bulkhead . . . he . . . he loves you . . ." Wheeljack shook his head, sucking in another hard breath. "He loves you."

Miko's head looked up, and Wheeljack's spark constricted at the sight of her luminous eyes sparkling with tears, eyes naked with pain. She swallowed, lips quivered helplessly. "He . . . he did?"

Wheeljack nodded, unconsciously bringing her closer to him. "He sure does," Wheeljack whispered, revering the words as if they were the greatest secret in the world. "He said he loves you. And if I know Bulk," he gave a weak laugh, "and I do . . . I bet you were like the little sparkling he never had."

He panicked slightly on the inside when she collapsed into another spark-wrenching fit of weeping, but he scooped her in close to his chest anyways. He felt tiny fingers clenching at his chest plating, and his throat thickened. Primus, it was like holding a tiny flower in his hand, so easily crushed . . . Just a child.

Hunching over himself, Wheeljack felt his free hand clenching the ground, digging grooves into the dirt. "Miko . . ." he rasped. He shook his head, struggling to contain the amount of emotion this small human was pulling from him in a way he hadn't felt since with his Wrecking team.

"Miko," he whispered down to the tiny human, "I . . . I may not be Bulkhead, but . . ." He sucked in a breath emotion clogging his vocals. "I—I may not be Bulkhead . . ."

Her black and pink pigtails looked up, and Wheeljack lost his words again, a rare occurrence in his time. Miko's throat worked. "Wheeljack . . . ?"

Shaking his head, Wheeljack rushed all the words out at once before he lost his nerve again. "Primus—Miko, I'm no Bulkhead, but if you'd let me I'll protect you." Wheeljack's hand cupped her protectively to his chest, possessively holding the last precious gift Bulkhead had left him. "I swear by the depths of the Well of All Sparks, Miko, I'll take care of you. I'll be there for you, I won't let anyone hurt you again."

His throat shifted uncomfortably at her wide eyes, lashes heavy with tears. These weren't his words. No, the old Wheeljack was rough, tough, and he didn't let anyone in—he had said so to the great Prime himself. Alone was a lot less complicated.

That didn't stop his spark from reaching out to the pitiful human in his hand, and it especially didn't stop the way his emotions spiraled out of control when he felt the kiss of small lips against his chest plating.

A hiccup preceded the weepy words, "Thanks, Jackie . . ."

Wheeljack bit his lip hard, fighting back the cry inside. Gripping his hand in the dirt, on his hands and knees with one servo clasping Miko close, Wheeljack trembled. He felt lubricants of artificial tears dripping off his face, soaking into the dusty ground.

_I promise you, Bulk . . . I'll make her happy even if it's the last thing I do._


	2. Personal Guardian

**Author's Note:_  
><em>**

**:D Oh Wheeljack. I love you. So hard.**

**Anyways, about this one shot turned into a story . . .**

**Don't expect updates a lot. They will be extremely slow because this is not my highest priority right now. My two main things I am working on at the moment are "Fraternizing" and to finish up "To The Moon And Beyond" (and also "From Dark To Light" which I have unfortunately kicked to the backburner . . . Awful me.)**  
><strong>As such, this will only get done when . . . it gets done. I'm not dedicating much time to this since I have other fictions I have promised. I will keep working on this at my strange intervals I do, but it's going to be slow updates. Sorry, but maybe when I've got some of this off my plate I will work harder on this.<strong>

**I think you can see the differences between Wheeljack and Bulkhead easily-Jackie's going to be doing mild cursing around Miko, doesn't much care about her nutrition as long as she's happy, and unfortunately, is using a pet name she doesn't like. :D "Babe."**

**Also, I've decided there will be hints of Miko x Jack if not all out. After watching the last episode, Tunnel Vision, I'm really starting to like their muted magnetism**

**I'm excited to flush this dynamic relationship out. :) There's so much spark and promise in this. I really almost wish the writers had really killed Bulkhead, but then I wouldn't get to write this fan fiction!**

**Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I know I did!**

* * *

><p><em>What am I doing?<em>

The first thing Miko wanted to do to get over Bulkhead's death was to retreat into her music and never surface.

This left Wheeljack parked in the middle of nowhere with his speakers blaring some type of horrible speed metal.

But did he tell Miko he hated the stuff?

No.

So now he found himself irrevocably tied to the human with the lie that he loved her speed metal.

Swallowing all feelings of stupidness, embarrassment, and self-consciousness, Wheeljack knew he had to throw himself fully into her music to make her believe he liked the grating on his ears. Taking a deep breath, Wheeljack probably did the dumbest thing he had ever done in his life.

"YEAH-AH-AH-AH! REK-EK-EK-EK-EK! FEHK-FEHK-FEHK-FEHK-FEHK-FEHK! OW-OW-OW—YEEEEEEAAAAAAH!"

Miko loved it, however. She was currently outside the car, banging her head, strumming an air guitar, and belting out the mishmash of unintelligible lyrics that really had no words at all.

Wheeljack shuddered to think of the day he had to do this inside of the base and in front of the others. His reputation as a Wrecker would be ruined—

"Transform, Jackie!" she called, unknowingly making the Wrecker's spark cringe at the memory of the use of Bulkhead's pet name. "No one's out this way! Let's rock!" Instead, for the umpteenth time, Wheeljack asked Primus what he was doing before he did what she asked of him.

Transforming up quickly, the shrieking "music" thundering from his speakers, Wheeljack forced himself to throw himself into her music. The bizarre dance of swinging his head and doing an "air guitar" made his insides groan at what he had let himself become, but a sinister explosion always haunted him, and it always brought him back to the heart of the matter.

Bulkhead.

Wheeljack heaved a groan of defeat on the inside, subjecting himself to his torture. How long this would go on? He didn't know. He prayed to Primus it would end soon.

_Bulkhead, you so owe me._

While Wheeljack proceeded to exude enthusiasm for anything Miko did, he inwardly growled good-naturedly at Bulkhead—if there was one big difference between the two Wreckers, it had been that Bulkhead wasn't afraid to act like the bumbling fool to cheer people up—Wheeljack, however, was too serious for that.

And yet, here he was, acting like a crazy metal head.

His jaw ticked and clenched tight as he rolled his eyes heavenward when another lengthy electric guitar took over. _Bulkhead, you OWE me. Primus knows you had better show me all the hot spots in the Well of the All Sparks . . . If there are any._

"Hey, Jackie!"

He could barely hear her over the music, and he mercifully turned the music down low to spare his ringing audio receptors. He knelt down, blinking his optics at the little human. "What's up?"

She seemed a bit shy, eyeing his shiny new paint. "Can . . . I'm hungry. Can we go get something to eat?"

Wheeljack shrugged, transforming down. Anything was better than what they were doing now. "Sure thing. Hop in, babe. Where ya wanna go?"

Miko jumped in the driver's seat he opened up for her, strapping her buckle on. "Um . . . Can we go to the KO Burger?"

Wheeljack snorted at her, closing his door and turning them back towards the road. "We can go wherever you want to go, Miko. Don't hold back on account of me. Eat what you want."

"Well . . . Okay." Miko still twiddled her thumbs nervously, and Wheeljack's rearview mirrors twitched towards her quiet form. Her brown eyes were nervously roving over him, the seats, the cup holders, and the entire interior. Wheeljack felt a frown pass through his systems.

"What's up, Miko?"

She chafed her arms uncertainly. "Well . . . um . . ."

"Speak up, babe." A playful rumble rolled through his alt form. "It won't hurt my feelings, if that's the problem."

A small smile tilted her lips up, and the positive emotion made Wheeljack feel empowered. Then, it went away as quick as it had come. "Well . . . Can I get ice cream?"

A fairly aggrieved hiss vented from his systems. "Miko. You can eat whatever the hell you want to eat."

Her lips pursed, whether to keep back a frown or smile he wasn't certain. "What, no "this stuff's not the best for you" speech?"

Absently, Wheeljack quickly looked through the internet on human health and ice cream. He grunted at the results. "I doubt a girl your size could eat enough ice cream to get that big. Besides, if you do start getting fat, I'll make you work out."

A barely concealed scoff caught in the back of her throat and passed through her nose instead. "You? Make me work out?"

"You doubt it?"

He tightened the belt on her in warning, and Miko just rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. As the empty Nevada roads bled beneath his wheels, her momentary out-going nature was stifled again. "Well . . . I was just wondering . . . The ice cream . . ."

A sigh vented from him. "Babe, just spit it out."

Her nose wrinkled. "My name is Miko."

Wheeljack was thankful that he was in his alternate form so she didn't see him roll his optics. "Right. I know. Miko? The ice cream?"

She crossed her arms again, looking down. "Well . . . I have, um, a tendency to . . . spill it sometimes?"

Wheeljack inwardly groaned on the inside. Of course, Bulkhead wouldn't mind if she spilled ice cream on his interior, and it suddenly occurred to Wheeljack why she was hesitating so much. He took pride in his looks unlike Bulkhead did, and his alt mode was brand spanking new without the tiniest blemish. He shuddered on the inside at the thought of the cold, wet, and STICKY ice cream staining his insides . . .

He turned them towards the town of Jasper, feeling the warmth of her body in his driver's seat. "Well, how about this," he said suggestively. "Get what ya want, and you can eat at those outside chairs. That way you can spill all you like, and I'll still be right there with ya. Truce?"

Through his rearview mirrors, he watched her lips twitch again. "Okay, truce. Can you play some more Speed Monkey?"

His spark shuddered. "You got it."

Miko grinned then, so Wheeljack counted his bleeding ears worth it as the guitar abuse screamed out. They cruised up to Jasper after several songs, and they pulled in to the KO Burger.

A familiar and bored voice echoed out tiredly. "Welcome to KO drive in, where every pattie's a knockout. May I take your order?"

Wheeljack twitched his rearview mirrors, watching Miko grin. "Well," she drawled out dramatically, "so glad someone's happy to see us."

"Oh! Miko! Uh, how's it going?"

"Hit me up with a super combo, Jack, extra fires, and a frosty."

Wheeljack watched with amusement as Miko whipped out a hidden wallet; she smirked at Jack's affronted voice. "Well, I'm happy to see you too. That's 5.44. I sincerely hope you're not going to jet and leave me to pay."

Miko made a thoughtful sound, playing with a five and a one dollar bill in her hand. "Maybe. I'll carefully consider when we get to the window."

Wheeljack chuckled quietly when he heard an aggrieved sigh from the boy taking her order. "You tell him what for, Miko."

She gave an overly dramatic sigh, as if the time taken was exhausting. "Like _always_," she sighed, and smirked again when Wheeljack paused at the window.

Jack had both hands clenched around her food. "5.99," he said, arching a brow at her. Miko shrugged and pursed her lips, waving the money under his nose. He wrinkled his nose and snatched it before looking uncertainly back at her.

"Miko?"

She kicked her feet up on the dash, a mildly annoying thing. "What?"

He slowly counted out her change, serious green eyes probing her overshadowed with worry. "You okay?"

Wheeljack felt her stiffen in the seat. "I'm fine," was all she said though, and she stuck her hand back through the window. She curled her fingers. "Change?"

Jack sighed again and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He dropped the coins in her hand, but before she could bring it back, he grabbed her wrist. "Look, Miko . . ."

Wheeljack felt Miko tense again, though this time he thought he detected a slight rise of her body temperature. Anger? Wheeljack watched her closely through the rearview mirror, but her face was completely smooth.

When Jack hesitated, she arched a brow. "What?"

He avoided her gaze. "Look, if you ever want to . . . I mean—Never mind." He quickly handed her the food, saying, "There you go." After quickly checking around, Jack shifted his eyes to the car. "Hey, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack shifted himself into gear. "'Sup kid. Let's go Miko. We'll head to base after you're done."

As he pulled away from the window, Jack leaned out and waved, hollering, "Well—bye!"

Miko gave a salute out the car window before she rolled it back up. She rolled her eyes and snorted at Jack before cracking open the bag. A curiously enticing smell filled the car, and Wheeljack parked himself right next to one of the picnic tables.

"All right," Miko said, a grin touching her face. "Chow time!"

Wheeljack settled back on his haunches when Miko got out and plopped down at the table to eat. After watching her dig into a hamburger eagerly, he cleared his throat uncertainly.

"So . . . this is how humans refuel." He paused. "What's it like?"

Miko swallowed, wiping her lips. "What's what like?"

As she took another bite of the sandwich, Wheeljack let a whine echo from his gears. "Well . . . My nasal sensors have never picked up that scent before. And I _doubt_ it tastes like energon. So what does it taste like?"

Miko munched on her large bite before wrinkling her nose thoughtfully. "Well . . ." She huffed impatiently. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it. It's . . . juicy." She eyed the sandwich that was decorated with lettuce, tomatoes, onions, hamburger, and cheese. "It's . . ." Miko gave another impatient sound and waved her hand. "I don't know. I've never tried to describe what eating is like."

She took another bite, and Wheeljack's rearview mirror twitched as he watched three girls sauntering down the road. With her back to them, Miko didn't notice, but Wheeljack got a good eyeful of the girls point at his human and laugh to each other.

The fire of protection sparked to life. His joints tightened when they altered their course towards Miko, and his sharp gaze narrowed at them.

Miko jumped when one leaned over to her left. "Well, look who it is," the blond sneered. "If it isn't the emo."

Miko scowled, glaring up at the girl. "Get lost, Brittany."

The girl made a petulant sound and pouted her lips. "Aww, what's this? You don't like me, little crackpot?"

The brunette leaned over to the right of Miko, and the third blond pinned her in to the chair from behind. "Please, how disgusting can you get? Black nail polish?"

"It's purple!" Miko snarled, turning her glare to the other one.

The blond behind her "tsked" and shook her head, flipping Miko's low pony tail. "How tacky," she scoffed.

Miko whipped around to face her with a sneer. "Is that so, Candace? I think tacky and disgusting is being a slut!"

The derogatory terms were starting to stack up and get even more condescending with every passing second. Wheeljack hesitated, proud to see Miko so outnumbered and holding her own, but he wanted to intervene, do SOMETHING, but he was strapped down with strict orders not to blow his cover.

Candace flinched a moment, but she just tossed her head and gave Miko a sickeningly sweet smirk. "Well, at least I can get some unlike a certain freak in front of me." Miko's eyes popped. "Can you _even _get a boyfriend?"

Heat shot to Miko's face. "Frag off!" she shouted, standing angrily. The Cybertronian curse surprised Wheeljack. "I don't need a boyfriend!"

Candace shoved her down into the seat. "Look, now she's speaking alien too! 'Frag off!'" she mimicked her, nose wrinkling with contempt.

"It's probably all the drugs she's on," the first blond said, tossing her head. She pushed at Miko, and Miko growled back. "Where's your weed?"

The brunette snickered. "Yeah, are you so feral you need a hit?"

When the first blond smacked her, Wheeljack felt something inside him snap. His door popped open violently.

"Hey!" he barked, utilizing a hologram. The man stepped from the car and startled the three girls, and he kept his hand rested on the open door. Miko's eyes popped at the hulk that presented itself—tall, and built strong. Loose, worn jeans fit snug around his hips with black singe marks permanently residing in them. His heavy, black combat boots were imposing. He wore a white shirt that had a red and green V on the chest, and the sleeves were ripped off—there were several burn stains there as well as the overall picture of white discolored by smoke. His black hair was wild and messy, and his Autobot blue eyes were cold as ice. His scowl deepened in their direction, and his electric blue eyes froze the girls scared.

The two scars in his lips stuck out still. His muscular arms were covered in multiple scars as well, and there was a hint of stubble on his steely jaw. The hand resting on his door fisted.

"You got a problem with my girl?"

He towered over them. The first blond shook her head quickly, eyes popping wide. "N-n-no, s-sir," she stuttered, some color washing from her face.

Wheeljack felt a sneer curl his lips. He leaned right in front of her and growled a low threat.

"_Then I suggest you get lost."_

All three girls fled as if they had seen Satan in the flesh. Wheeljack grunted, a sinewy arm tightening on his door as his black glare followed them. Miko breathed out in wonder.

"Whoa . . ." She jumped up in front of him, and he looked down at her. "That is so cool! Can the rest of the bots do that? Is it real? Can you beat them up for me?"

Her quick questions were processed by his highly computer mind. "Yeah, the rest can do it," he said, "but I guess they've never had a reason to. And yeah, it's real, but not as real as you're thinking. It's just a hologram." He waved his hand through Miko, and that robust arm passed straight through her. "Special purposes." A smirk tilted his lips up. "Though, I suspect beating those three glitches to pulp would be a hell of a good time."

Miko snickered and plopped back down at her table, leaning cockily on her elbow. "They'll think twice to ever approach me again," she muttered, taking another firm bite out of her hamburger. She patted the seat next to her. "Sit down!" she said around her mouthful.

Wheeljack shook his head. "Can't." he gave a careless shrug towards the car. "It's just a hologram, Miko. It'll disappear once I remove all contact with my alt form."

Miko poked out her tongue. "Well, that sucks."

She was quiet for a moment, and Wheeljack watched her refuel, letting his eyes trial down the girl he had never looked at that hard before. He let his optics take into account every detail of her, memorizing everything from the curve of her cheek to the way her finger would tap, and the tiny gray studs in her pierced ears. Wheeljack studied her closely, vowing to not let anything about her escape him—if Bulkhead knew her well, and was going to too. He would learn every inch of her, what made her tick, and what made her happy or sad. And, obviously, he would learn patience, too:

"Quit looking at me like a creeper, Wheeljack, people are going to start thinking you're going to rape me."


	3. Kidnapped

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, seriously, I saw the end of TFP Triage and the way Bulkhead came in smoking and I was all like "BULKHEAD"S GONNA DIE! THOSE FRAGGING SHOW MAKERS ARE GOING TO STEAL MY IDEA AND HAVE MIKO GO WITH WHEELJACK TO ANCHOR JACKIE DOWN AT THE BASE!"**

**And so, I wrote like mad with my few hours of free time to create the next chapter because I'm paranoid that the show is going to steal my idea.**

**Also, if TFP isn't going to elaborate on Wheeljack's penchant for blowing things up, I sure as hell am! It's part of his character!**

**Anyways, Sandstorm, J'nwan, and Dion are real bots and place, you can look them up in the Transformers wikipedia. The horror story is completely made up though, since I couldn't find ANY Cybertronian horror stories and the ones I found surfing online (like the babysitter one) were not creepy enough for me**

**The creepy organ music Jackie and Miko listened to:**

**http:/**

**www.**

**youtube.**

**com/watch**

**?v=uJlSlMZl9fk**

* * *

><p>"So? What's up?"<p>

Wheeljack glanced up to where Miko was starting to approach him in the back of the silo, and he held out a hand. "Stay right there, Babe," he said, pausing his progress. "I want you to keep a twenty foot distance from me at all times."

She wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms. "What? You want me to keep shouting at you from way over here to keep talking to you?"

Wheeljack risked a glance up at her with a grin before he focused down on the capsule on the table. "I have a penchant for blowing stuff up," he told her wryly. "Just ask the others—I bet Optimus wouldn't want you in the same room as me right now. In fact, back up another ten feet, just for your own well being and my peace of mind."

Miko frowned more but backed up accordingly. She raised her voice more to be heard. "So what is it?"

A grin touched his face, but Wheeljack didn't remove his eyes from rerouting the capsule just right. "It's a grenade," he said, carefully attaching a wire to its designated port. "I always carry just one and . . . well, the last one was used."

Miko's eyes brightened at the sight of a real grenade. "Really? Wow! Cool! How does it work?"

"Detonates on impact," Wheeljack said with a wry smile, actually surprised by her exuberance. Well, maybe he shouldn't be, considering that she always ran off into danger and loved zombies.

"That is so cool," she said, standing on her toes as if for a better look. "I've never seen any of the other bots use a grenade before."

Wheeljack chuckled, saying, "Well, then I guess—"

His finger accidentally brushed a wire he had previously attached and unplugged it, setting off the detonation prematurely. Wheeljack roared out in pain when the explosion rocked right near his face, and he recoiled back when fire assaulted the right side of his face. With a heavy grunt, he landed on his backside, the remains of his work-in-progress nonexistent.

"Wheeljack!"

He groaned in pain, his hand coming up to clutch at his face. Energon leaked from between his fingers.

"Wheeljack! Are you all right?"

A frizzy optic focused down on her, and Wheeljack quickly read through the scans to realize that, yes, he was missing his right optic and critical damage had been done to his face.

He waved a hand at the worried Miko. "Don't worry about it, Babe," he said, coughing up some extra smoke. He would hate to see what he looked like right about now.

"Don't worry about it?" he heard her cry out shrilly. _"Don't worry about it?"_ As his left optic did some repairs and recalibrations, Miko became clearer to him, and with shock, he realized that she had little tears in her eyes. "You nearly fragging blew your face off! And—my name is Miko! Miko!" And she stamped her foot, absolutely quivering with passion.

Wheeljack blinked before trying to ignore the blazing pain a bit longer. He cupped her body with his hand. "Hey, calm it down. I know—and I'm sorry. Look, I try to be careful, but my experiments normally leave me smoking . . . down a limb . . . or other such injuries . . . But don't worry. I'm built to take explosions like that."

She crossed her arms petulantly. "I don't want you to get hurt, okay? I don't want—" Miko took a harsh breath, turning her face away, and Wheeljack saw her throat bob and jaw clench.

A compassionate rumble rolled through his chest. He gently chucked her chin. "Look, I'm not going anywhere. You got that?"

She let out a quivering breath, and nodded.

Wheeljack scooped her up and put her on his knee before he heard the ring in his communicator. _"Wheeljack,"_ he heard an unamused Ratchet intone, _"why do I have a feeling that you're in pieces right now?"_

Wheeljack chuckled, feeling his face pulse in response. "Can you bring me an optic and a welder?"

The medical officer grumbled in irritation. _"I'm coming . . ."_

Seeing that Miko was still mad at him, Wheeljack let go of his wound. "So? How bad did I ruin my good looks?"

Miko paused, giving a serious look to his mauled face, brows pinching. "Well," she said slowly, "I don't know, it's not too bad. I think it's an improvement from that ugly mug I was looking at before."

Wheeljack blinked in utter shock before he took her jibe in stride. He recoiled with a mock grab at his chest. "Now, c'mon, Babe, that was uncalled for! I might have had my face rearranged a couple times, but I know for a fact I'm not that bad!"

Miko snorted and tossed her head. "My name is Miko." But, she didn't hold on to her anger long. She peeked up beneath her eyelashes, brows frowning at the energon streaming down his face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Wheeljack gave a shrug. "Sure I am." He pressed his hand over his face again, wincing when several jagged edges moved. "Doc's on his way."

She wrinkled her nose, unbelieving. "Doesn't it hurt? I mean . . . half your face is blown to bits. I'm looking at the wires."

Wheeljack cringed then. "Man, Doc ain't gonna be happy . . ." He gave a shrug again. "I've had worse. I think this one just looks worse than it really is. Just stick the new optic in, a couple welds to hold my face in place, and I'll be good as new."

"If there's no internal damage," Ratchet intoned wryly, without a hint of amusement.

Wheeljack rolled his left optic, setting Miko on the ground. "You might wanna step back, Miko, Doc is sure to beat me into a heap of slag for this."

Ratchet waved his wrench threateningly, making Wheeljack unconsciously shrink back. "My name is not Doc! And I should," he growled. "Primus knows you need it . . ."

Wheeljack just sat, twitching and snarling back when Ratchet prodded hurting places—and really didn't repair him all that generously free of pain—it left Wheeljack more than irritated and nearly slapping the medical assistant. Instead, he kept his jaw clenched tight until Ratchet left and turned his glare to Miko.

"I swear, he'll be working on someone in critical condition and make them go into cardiac arrest he's so rough."

Miko laughed. "Please, you're just a wuss."

It took him half a second to learn the meaning of her slang. "I am not!" he declared hotly. "Why don't you let Ratchet do surgery on YOUR optic!"

"Duh," she said as if he were dumb. She pointed a finger to her eye. "Squishy."

Wheeljack poked her in the chest. "Yeah, squishy is right. And don't you forget it!" Miko just rolled her eyes again, and Wheeljack felt a grin tilt his lips up. "All right, let me make my grenade and then we'll blow this joint. Where you want to go?"

Miko backed up when Wheeljack waved his hand. She frowned uncertainly. "Well . . . I dunno . . ."

Wheeljack snorted. "Fine. Let's just drive. We'll have Ratchet bridge us outta here with some random coordinates and we'll jet." Wheeljack sent her a lop-sided grin as he began one more grenade. "And don't worry—I'll be careful with this one this time around."

* * *

><p>"Wheeljack?"<p>

He grumbled through his gears. "You don't have to say it."

"I think I will. This sucks."

"No need to be so blunt, I KNOW . . ."

Wheeljack let his tires take him through the dark forest, dank in the pre-early morning dusk. The tall pines loomed forebodingly over them, and the trail was rugged, annoying Wheeljack because it jarred his suspension.

So, the random coordinates backfired. Instead, their middle of nowhere was a god-forsaken forest in the middle of the night.

"Well, that's just a good lesson to remember," Wheeljack muttered to the bored human in his seat. "Always give the good ol' Doc a pair of coordinates when you KNOW where you're going." When Miko sighed in impatience, he tightened her seatbelt. "I'm not one to go back and endure more Ratchet yet, so how about some creepy music?"

"Screeching guitars?"

He nearly cringed. "Organ?"

Miko laughed and kicked up her feet on the dashboard. "Why not. Makes it feel like Halloween."

Picking a random song, Wheeljack was pleased that the song was creepy enough even though Miko giggled like an imp in his front seat. He couldn't help but chuckle too, and ask, "How about I tell you one of those jacked-up stories on the internet?"

Miko snickered. "Go for it."

Wheeljack surfed for a minute as the haunting organ chords played. "All right, here we go," he said. He took on a dramatic narrator voice, saying, "A married couple were going out for the evening and called in a teenage babysitter to—"

"The Babysitter and the Man Upstairs!" Miko cut in, shaking her head. "Come ON! I've heard that one a million times!"

Wheeljack snorted at her, but proceeded to find another . . . and when she knew that one went through three more until he gave an impatient huff.

"C'mon, Babe. Is there a horror story you DON'T know?"

Miko shrugged. "It's Miko. And I dunno. I was hoping you would have one. Are there any horror stories from Cybertron?" Miko perked up them, face turning animated as she sat up in the seat. "Yeah! Can you tell me a scary story from Cybertron?"

Wheeljack grunted, catching himself from falling into a nasty pothole before continuing on, a steady mist of morning overcoming them. He carefully watched ahead of his headlights cutting through the dank darkness, and rolled his optics to the black sky and grey clouds. If he were transformed, a smile would have played around his mouth.

"Sure thing, Babe. The Wreckers used to tell all kinds of stories to try and scare each other." He chuckled, tugging on the belt. "I'll spare you of the REALLY scary ones where we could sneak up on the mechs and have them screaming like younglings."

"I want to hear one of those!" Miko burst, a grin coming across her face. "I want all the juicy details, c'mon, Jackie, I'm in need of a good scare!"

Wheeljack laughed then, revving his engine. "Is that so?" he growled at her. "Well, I'll have you know that they are all kinds of horror stories from J'nwan of Insecticons eight times as large as me—!" Wheeljack suddenly transformed, making Miko shriek when she tumbled out onto the ground, her huge guardian looming over her while baring his teeth—"And they'll eat you whole!" He scooped her up quickly with a roar, making her scream when his transformation churned around her until she plopped in the front sit, mad with giggles. "And you sit in their stomach among the remains of massing limbs, half-alive wretches begging for death, rusting until you're digested in agonizing death!"

Miko laughed, grinning with a glint in her eyes. "Really? Sounds fun! But what was that place you said? Jinwan? Grwan?"

"J'nwan," Wheeljack repeated with a playful tug on her seatbelt. "It's a region of Cybertron that intersects with a subspace fissure rotating through numerous pocket dimensions. A pit of hell if you ever make it there."

Her eyes popped. She leaned forward, animated. "Really?"

Wheeljack chuckled. "Sure thing; cut my glossia out if I'm lying. The effect of that quantum flux in the local traumasphere makes it produce a maddening landscape of nightmares. It's said to ignore all logic or physics. Navigation is rendered nearly impossible, enormous objects and structures jump out at you and vanish unpredictably, and the ultimate result of J'nwan is to lose your sanity, no matter how strong of mind you may be."

Miko breathed out in wonder, eyes on his dash. Wheeljack flicked his optics back to the nighttime path and the heavy mists in the forest. "That's awesome," Miko asserted, her fingers clenching on his seat. "I wish we had a place like that on Earth."

The creepy organ music played on as Wheeljack grumbled, turning off his headlights. The way plunged into darkness, and he felt Miko stiffen in his seat before relaxing. "You want a horror story?" he hissed. "Well, let me tell you one about . . . the _Fallen_."

Miko hunkered down in his seat, eyes animated. "Who's the Fallen?"

"The Fallen was one of the thirteen original Primes," Wheeljack grumbled, his story-telling voice on. "At the dawn of time, he was Megatronus Prime."

Miko gasped. "The one Megatron named himself after!"

"The one and only!" he barked before dropping his voice off dramatically. "As a Prime, his job was to oversee entrophy, the orderly dissolution of all things in preparation for the next creation. But, the concept of destruction fascinated him too much, and he lost sight of the goal of rebirth and the need for restraint. Megatronus became the first Decepticon and then took the name . . . the Fallen."

"And then what?" she whispered.

"The Fallen's frightening form is a metal cage for primal beasts, burning forces of chaos, and it gives him the appearance of a living furnace . . . a living hell." Miko's brown eyes were wide, riveted with the story. "These fires consumed him of all empathy and mortality, leaving vengeful _rage_.

"The Fallen is extremely powerful, commanding mystic, entropic arts, opening space bridges whenever he wants, and if he's at full strength . . . he can un-make creation at WILL."

Miko grinned, eyes dancing. "Now THAT'S a villain."

"And not the one you want to be fighting against," Wheeljack said seriously. He tightened her seatbelt, letting a shudder run through his suspension for dramatic effect. "Currently, they say he is trapped between dimensions—"

"You mean he's real?" Miko squeaked.

Wheeljack snorted in the damp night, weaving in between the trees. His suspension rattled them as they lost traction on the path. "Of course he's real! He was one of the original Primes! Now, lemme get back to the story."

"But wait," Miko cut in quickly, eyes huge. "Does that mean J'nwan is real too?"

"Damn right it is. The stories are the only thing that's fake, Babe." He chuckled, jerking her seat and making her grip him tight and clamp her jaw shut to hold back the scream. "THAT'S what makes Cybertronian scary stories so terrifying."

Wheeljack twitched his rearview mirrors, wheels rolling through the dirt and grass. "Now," he grumbled, shaking Miko's seat a little, "some of the best horror stories from Cybertron are centered around the Fallen and J'nwan." He chuckled darkly, beginning to get his story on as they cruised through the darkness. "This one's a little special . . . This story is about a bot named Dion. Optimus would have my head if he knew I was telling this story, but you don't have to tell him I said anything."

"Why would Optimus be mad?" Miko whispered.

"Dion was one of Optimus's good friends on Cybertron way back when he was Orion," Wheeljack stage whispered, the hair-rising organ music adding flair to his words. "However, when they were gunned down by Decepticons, Orion was soon afterwards had the Matrix of Leadership bestowed upon him. However, while Orion was rebuilt into Optimus . . . the fate of Dion became nonexistent. No one knew whether or not he had survived, and to this day, he is still proclaimed dead."

Wheeljack let his metal rattle, making Miko jumped instinctively she was so drawn into the story. "Now," he rumbled, "this is where it gets interesting. You see, the only one who has made it out of J'nwan with his sanity intact is a mech named Sandstorm, a mech I've sadly never met. However, they say he did seem a little mentally unstable at times, particularly before the dawn when the dew settles and the clouds are wisps of grey in the skies."

"Just like tonight . . ." Miko whispered, eyes jumping outside to the darkness.

Wheeljack felt smug on the inside that she was getting creeped out by the story. "Well," he continued, driving through the sinister forest, "Sandstorm would continually hallucinate the sight of Dion, a mech he had never met, never seen, never even heard of. However, he knew by one look that this lost soul was neither dead or alive, but trapped in an endless death, demented with pain and shrieking for Sandstorm to kill him. His metal was ravaged, paint rusting and chipping with the age of years, frothing lubricant dripping from his mouth, body writhing as he clutched at the fatal wound in his chest where his spark gushed living energon, yet did not beat."

"Then what?" Miko rasped, instinctively curling into a ball on his seat.

"Sandstorm was haunted by the wraith of Dion," Wheeljack continued, slowing down his speed so the ride was smoother through the forgotten forest. "Worse yet, the hallucination was not only his own—others saw the undead Dion too, and they fled from Sandstorm. Sandstorm could only assume Dion had followed him out of J'nwan, and he vowed to send him back.

"However, Dion continually pleaded for Sandstorm to put him out of his misery. Sandstorm was the first to try it, sick of the horrible pleading, and he shot Dion in the spark. Instead—" Wheeljack jerked the seat, making Miko squeal shortly, "Sandstorm suffered the pain of the attack, screaming to the heavens as he endured the grip of death and did not die! Horrified, Sandstorm fled the wraith of Dion."

Miko's hands were like vices on his seat, and her eyes were wide with astonishment. "What then?" she whispered, riveted.

The haunting organ continued on in the background as Wheeljack told her in a hushed voice, "Dion followed, begging each Cybertronian he came across to kill him. Many tried, terrified of him, but none could ever kill him—instead, Sandstorm suffered the many wounds Dion acquired. He would scream in pain, thrash because he could never escape it, and he would hallucinate his own energon gushing from his body when indeed there was nothing wrong with him.

"And then, the day came when Dion caught up with Sandstorm." Wheeljack let his metal rattle, making Miko jump. "He begged the same thing, for Sandstorm to put him out of his misery, and that was when Sandstorm finally broke, realizing something needed done. He journeyed back to J'nwan with a desperate Dion on his heels, alive and dead both, leaving a trail of energon to mark their path of sufferings. When Sandstorm made it to J'nwan, he—"

Seeing what was ahead, Wheeljack's joints hinged up, and he slammed on the breaks, making Miko squeal in terror since she was caught up in the story. Wheeljack's spark slammed hard in his chest, and blind hate ripped across his sensors.

Dreadwing looked up, a handful of sticky web in his hand that was pulling hard to free himself from a tree. He narrowed his deathly red optics at Wheeljack, and Wheeljack transformed with a growl, setting Miko down on the ground.

Mechanically, Wheeljack grasped his new bomb. Dreadwing gave a harsh laugh.

"What are you going to do?" he mocked, glaring defiantly at Wheeljack. "Blow me up the way I did Bulkhead?"

A pained gasp at his feet alerted Wheeljack to Miko. He put away the grenade slowly, growling back, "That's the idea." He drew out his swords with a long, drawn out screech of metal against metal. "However," he snarled, "even a wretch like yourself deserves a fighting chance."

"Jackie—"

"Get outta here, Babe," he told her, pointedly placing the sharp of his blade against the webbing that held Dreadwing prisoner. He let his face clamp slide into place. "Things are about to get messy here."

Fast steps in the grass took Miko away until she was out of hearing range. Dreadwing narrowed his optics at Wheeljack as he very deliberately cut him free. Wheeljack backed away, leveling his swords at Dreadwing. Dreadwing put away his gun, opting instead for his own wicked blade. After a few seconds of long standoff, by unspoken choice, both mechs attacked.

Wheeljack yelled, falling into the deadly grace of battle. His suspension shocked because the blows were so strong and heavy, each strike ruled by a deep hatred for the other bot. And, Dreadwing was no lightweight—he was taller and bigger than Wheeljack, always putting him at a slight disadvantage that he could only make up for with raw skill.

Ducking beneath Dreadwing's blade, the sword cutting through the air with a whistle, Wheeljack kneed the Decepticon hard, making him stagger back in retreat. Coming back with a swift uppercut, Wheeljack was pleased when his katanas sliced over Dreadwing's shoulder, giving the first blow to him. Dreadwing glanced at the trickle of bright energon on his arm, narrowed his optics, and attacked again.

The deadly dance continued, sparks flying from clashing swords and the wind whistling when it was cut. Wheeljack managed to land another blow on the same shoulder, but that proved to be his first mistake—a furious fist smashed into Wheeljack's back and he stumbled forward. A two-handed sword strike felled Wheeljack with a low groan.

Wheeljack turned over swiftly, just managing to avoid the point of Dreadwing's decidedly custom weapon. He kicked out with all his might, sending the Decepticon flying back, and he leapt to his feet, pursuing his fallen foe. With a mighty yell, Wheeljack dropped both swords towards his enemy, but Dreadwing scrambled away, warding him off with a swipe of his blade.

Wheeljack spun, running forward with the intent to pummel the Decepticon into oblivion, but a bomb spun like a Frisbee his way. Jerking to his knees, Wheeljack watched the bomb pass over his head, exploding somewhere behind him, but unwittingly, fell straight into Dreadwing's trap.

A full-out punch sent Wheeljack flying backwards into a tree, jarring his body and making his optics glitch a second. Forcing his way back to his feet, Wheeljack roared in pain when several blasts from Dreadwing's hand-held gun shot him in the shoulder, arm, and hip. Dropping one of his twin katanas, Wheeljack staggered to a knee, gasping in pain. His malfunctioning optics looked up just in time to see a bomb flying his way.

Digging in deep for strength, Wheeljack threw himself away from the collision, but still took the brunt of the explosion. He felt himself fly, snapping several trees along the way, and then, when he hit the ground, saw only static through his optics.

Shortly after, he passed out.

* * *

><p>Wheeljack stirred with a low groan. Pain when he woke meant pain when he was knocked out—Dreadwing!<p>

His hand clamped around his katana even before he knew where he was, and he jerked to a knee, glaring out through the morning dew of an abandoned forest. Weapon brandished threateningly for his opponent, almost immediately, he felt an open data burst come his way. Scowling, he received it.

_Meet me back at the shipping depot where I killed Bulkhead. I believe I have something important of yours._

Wheeljack ground his jaw with irritation at the underhanded Decepticon, snatching up his other katana. Sheathing the twin swords, he rubbed his throbbing head, duly noting that he was leaking. He groaned. The doc bot wasn't going to be happy when—

Wheeljack froze. _Something important_ . . .

Wheeljack bolted to his feet. "Miko!" he bellowed into the morning air. He jogged slowly, casting his scanners out for a life form, but it picked up nothing but the animals . . . no humans.

"Miko!" he shouted again, spark beginning to pound violently. "Miko! Babe, where are you?" Moving back the way they had come, a slow panic began to try to overtake the Wrecker. "Miko!" he belted out as loud as he possibly could, startling the morning birds. "Miko! Say something Babe! Miko! _MIKO!"_


	4. The Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry it's later than I thought, don't eat me! And it may be short, but it's SO good. I literally got inspired after watching "The Hurt Locker" and wrote from twelve to one in the middle of the night this whole chapter. This was the song of inspiration, just remove the spaces:**

** www. youtube watch?v=e9dJv9KNc1Q**

**"Familiar shadows closing in  
>Suffocating fear descends<br>You killed a life. Uncovered eyes"**

* * *

><p>Wheeljack paced restlessly as he waited for the Jackhammer to Autopilot its way to his position. He ignored the sparks of pain on his wounded hip and leading arm and shoulder. He didn't have the time to stop the leaking. Primus only knew what Dreadwing could do to Miko while he had her . . .<p>

His spark clenched violently with territorial worry. The things he would DO to that sniveling Decepticon scum when he got his hands on him—! First Seaspray, then Bulkhead, and now—he fragging kidnapped Miko! Wheeljack roared in frustrated fury, slamming his restless fists into a tree. The wood splintered beneath his hands. He quaked in fury. Weak, soft, helpless Miko—His dentures gnashed in his jaw. He had been charged with protecting her. And, if he didn't get his act together, he was going to fail her.

His back stiffened. His shoulders hunched as he gripped the tree so tightly it began to snap beneath the force of his grasp. _He would not fail_. Not again!

Wheeljack cringed when the sound of the Jackhammer suddenly slashed through the quiet of the morning, sending him back to a rocking explosion. Taking a rough, deep breath, Wheeljack steeled himself for the fight ahead, snatching up his twin katanas. Sheathing them on his back, Wheeljack entered the Jackhammer with a will of iron that could level mountains.

"Dreadwing," he snarled to the Decepticon, "you're gonna wish you had never messed with the ones I love."

Sending the thrusters on full power, Wheeljack piloted the Jackhammer straight to the coordinates engraved on the guilty edges of his spark.

The Jackhammer was no one's speeding ship, but it was fast—still, at this moment, nothing could be fast enough for Wheeljack. He pushed the ship until its thrusters protested, bringing it up short outside the shipping yard. He landed roughly, leaving the ship as he drew his twin katanas. His face clamp whizzed shut.

He prowled quickly and carefully through the maze of destroyed shipping boxes, feet crunching much too loud in the rubble for his taste. He felt prickles of unrest down his neck. This was just too easy. He knew he was walking into a trap, but wasn't sure what it was. Maybe the whole place was rigged to blow again . . .

His spark stopped when he found Miko. She was at the water's edge chained to the very shipping crane claw that had pinned Dreadwing. It was on its side, and Wheeljack also noticed Miko was gagged, arms behind her back with the chain wrapped around her several times.

"Miko!" he shouted, running up to her. Her head snapped up, and her eyes bugged huge. She began to scream behind her gag, muffled and incomprehensible, and she ran forward until the chains nearly jerked her back. Tears were in her eyes as she screamed in reckless abandon, and Wheeljack's eyes widened as he skidded to a stop.

Turning back and flinging himself away, an explosion rocked just feet away.

Wheeljack cried out in pain as heat swamped over him, crashing to the ground. Groaning, he struggled to get back up, optics glitching.

"Wheeljack!" he heard Dreadwing drawl, and the Wrecker jolted to his feet, optics narrowing at his mortal enemy. Dreadwing pulled out his blade, waltzing casually in front of a struggling Miko. "I'm disappointed in you. No reinforcements? I was hoping you would bring in some of your Autobot friends. More spare parts to fill the scrap yard with, wouldn't you say?"

He ignored the pulsing pain in his arm, shoulder, and hip from the bullets; Wheeljack jeered from behind his mask, "I don't need help to take down a cowering simpleton. Let the girl go."

Dreadwing tutted his tongue, shook his head, and brought out his deadly sword. "I can't do that, Wheeljack. Your human pet is the bait I need. Perhaps it will draw a few more flies to their death."

"Not this time," he gritted out. "This time, you're not getting out alive!"

Wheeljack roared, charging at the crafty Decepticon. Dreadwing parried, and they fell into another deadly pattern of battle, but this time with less grace and more ferocity. Swords clashed against each other until sparks flew, and the deep whistle of the wind accentuated the lethality of the blows that would come.

Wheeljack fought fueled by rage. He felt each blow shocking through his suspension, and when Dreadwing tried to fall back—most likely to try and set a bomb off—Wheeljack followed with the stubborn determination he was known for. This time he wasn't leaving this place alive!

He snarled out his war cry, slamming his blades into Dreadwing's sword with vengeance, burning hatred consuming his system a hazy red. Each blow rang in his audio receptors as he fought with the murderous mind-set of a Decepticon.

_BANG!_ For Seaspray. _BANG!_ For Bulkhead. _BANG!_ For Miko. _BANG!_ For Seaspray! _BANG!_ For BULKHEAD! _BANG! _FOR MIKO!

With a guttural roar, Wheeljack broke past Dreadwing's defenses first, slamming his katana deep into his shoulder. Dreadwing howled, and Wheeljack ripped him down in blind fury, jabbing his other katana into his back. Dreadwing screamed in pain as the point gouged down deep, energon spattering the ground. However, an explosion rocked nearby, forcing Wheeljack to shield himself from the heat and spray of rubble as Dreadwing retreated to a safe distance.

"Wheeljack, you always spiked my curiosity," Dreadwing said casually, wounded shoulder shifting his blade to his other hand. Wheeljack risked a glance over to Miko chained up, and he was satisfied to see her not going down without a fight—she flung herself and fought against the chains that held her immobile, wrenching herself and trying to wriggle free from her prison.

"You're invulnerable," Dreadwing said as they slowly circled. Wheeljack gritted his jaw, refusing to give the shady Decepticon an answer. "I was always impressed with your swordsmanship, one reason why I would always provoke you, but you never lose your cool. It bothered me, and I wondered—How much to make him break?"

"Not enough," Wheeljack interjected darkly.

He narrowed his icy blue optics at the fiery red of Dreadwing's. The Decepticon gave a harsh laugh, twirling his sword to keep warm. "But it will be. I tried first with your precious Seaspray." When Wheeljack stiffened audibly, Dreadwing chuckled. "Oh yes, I do get a fantastic rise out of you with him . . . But that wasn't enough. So I kept my optics out, and who did I find you with? An old Wrecking buddy."

Dreadwing shook his head with mocking sadness as he sighed, "Alas, even blowing Bulkhead to slag wasn't enough to make you lose it, though I did receive an enticing threat at that moment."

Muffled screams caught their attention, and Wheeljack looked over with Dreadwing to see Miko struggling against her bonds again. She shrieked with rage, twisting and pulling against the chains. A constant stream of expletives and threats and Primus knew was else was strangled in her mouth from her gag.

When Wheeljack looked back at Dreadwing, he felt anger rise in him until his arms began to quake. Those red optics were _laughing_.

"She has fire in her, Wheeljack," Dreadwing drawled in monologue to him. "That must be why you like her so much."

"Leave her out of this 'Con," Wheeljack snarled from behind his mask, twirling his katanas in open threat. "This is between you and me."

"This, I think, is the deciding factor," Dreadwing said coolly, studying Wheeljack. "I've heard from the other Decepticons of young Miko's relationship to the Autobots, mainly Bulkhead. Astonishing how close they were, is it not? And now that Bulkhead is dead, he cannot take care of her, and so you take his place."

"And what's it mean to you?" Wheeljack sneered, covering up the fear that was bundling tight in his chest.

Dreadwing leveled his wicked sword to Wheeljack. "You have taken it upon yourself to protect her. And if you cannot protect her for your fallen friend, THAT would be your greatest failing. Your _breaking point_."

Wheeljack interrupted with an enraged roar, barreling down on the cocky Decepticon. Hacking and slashing so ferociously that Dreadwing could barely ward him off, Wheeljack waylaid the manipulating Decepticon with all his might. His teeth bared behind his mask as he breathed hard, adrenaline fueled by hate running his systems. Ignoring the leaks, Wheeljack zeroed in on Dreadwing with killer instincts, taking every opening that the 'Con let down. He punched his jaw; he kneed his gut; he cut more openings across his body. He received his fair share of nicks through his feral attacks, caring nothing for defense, but Dreadwing managed to weasel his way out of another tight spot.

Both katanas missed in a reckless, downward slash, and Wheeljack grunted when Dreadwing's knee connected with his jaw. He was lucky his face clamp prevented more damage from being done, but he was unlucky when Dreadwing's fist slammed into his face so hard it sent the world keeling uncontrollably to the side. Rolling back and away from the wounded Dreadwing, Wheeljack panted in cycles of air for his overheating systems, but his blue optics widened when he saw a bomb clutched in Dreadwing's hand.

Dreadwing's thumb activated the ticking bomb. "Let's see how important the human is to you," he suggested, and Wheeljack felt his spark sputter to a halt. The Decepticon turned to Miko whose brown eyes bugged wide. She backed away, entangled in chains.

"Save her now, Autobot!"

_"NO!"_

Wheeljack dropped his weapons, sprinting straight towards the peril that was thrown towards Miko. Her screams were still muffled behind her gag, but it did nothing to stop him from hearing them. Crashing to the ground between them, Wheeljack pinned her in between his chest and hand, bearing his back to the oncoming bomb.

Blinding pain, and then, darkness.


	5. Come Back To Me

An excruciatingly loud scream of an electric guitar shocked Wheeljack out of his stasis. He cried out, cringing at the grating sound.

"What in the pit—" He groaned. "Turn that slag down!"

There was a palpable beat of silence. "You don't like it."

Wheeljack groaned again, reaching up a hand to press against his ringing cranium. However, when he bent his arm, he felt something in his arm. Looking over, he saw an IV hooked up to him, monitoring his energon levels. His optics widened.

He was laying face-down on the medical berth in the missile silo, and he could feel another cord locked on the back of his head, no doubt monitoring his brain waves for signs of trauma. He thought he could feel more stabilizing cords hooked to his back—

His spark skipped a beat as the past caught up with him. "Miko!" He immediately tried to sit up, pressing a hand to the berth, but he caught his breath, struggling to contain a scream when he felt blinding agony tear up his spine. A hand pushed him back down to his prone position.

"Stay down," and he heard Ratchet say crisply. "You're not fully healed yet."

Turning his head as much as he could, Wheeljack saw Miko standing with her guitar hanging from her shoulders. She was staring at him with a mixture of emotion, but Wheeljack only felt one—

Relief.

"Primus—Miko, you're all right," he gasped before he could stop himself. "Were you hurt? At all?"

"No," she said, and a conflicting emotion chased its way across her face. "You don't like my music."

"I—What?"

Her accusation literally wiped him speechless, and Wheeljack felt his optics widen. "Wait, Babe, it's not like that—"

Tears suddenly sparked in her eyes. "I was worried about you!" she shouted at him, throwing her hands out in exasperation. "I—I was WORRIED! And all you've got to say is to turn that slag down? And—my name is MIKO!" Infuriated, Miko slung her guitar from her body and to the floor. The hot strings screeched in the amp. "You lied to me! This whole time, you LIED to me!"

Wheeljack pushed himself up a little, ignoring the pain that chased across his back. "Miko, wait! I—"

"You lied to me!" she burst again. "I was worried about your aft, and all you've been doing to me is lying!"

When she took off running, Wheeljack threw his pains to the wind and sat up, shouting, "Miko, wait!" He choked back in pain as he sat up despite Ratchet's angry warnings, and he watched helplessly as Miko jumped on the back of Arcee, wrapping her arms around Jack. The boy in question hesitated at the look on Wheeljack's face, but when Miko pushed her face into his back, one of his hands reached down to clasp hers. He guided Arcee out of the silo, taking Miko with him.

Wheeljack gritted his teeth audibly, hands gripping the medical berth. Cringing, he lifted his head, groaning, "Dear Primus, what did that bomb do to me?"

"It nearly took your life!" Ratchet exploded. "Because you pursued revenge you left Miko in hysterics about your health while we had to drag you completely unconscious and nearing death because of all the energon you lost! Now, lie down!"

Breathing shallow through his dentures, Wheeljack listened to the irate medic for once and flopped back down on the berth, in too much pain to do otherwise. "What's the damage?" he finally asked.

Ratchet "harrumphed" before explaining, "It was all I could do to stabilize you. Besides the gaping hole in your back, I've had to replace a grand multitude of wiring and patched up the bullet wounds. I've yet to finish repairing your back, and that is why you're hurting so much."

Wheeljack cringed into himself. "How long've I been out?"

"Three Earth solar cycles," he heard a deep voice say, and Wheeljack looked up as Optimus came into sight. His disappointed blue optics fixated on him.

Wheeljack couldn't stop how his optics avoided the great Prime's gaze. "I, uh . . . Look, this is my fault. Miko, she . . ." He took a breath, looking back up. "She didn't get hurt?"

"Of that, we are thankful," Optimus said, and Wheeljack nearly flinched when he emphasized "that." Wheeljack stared at the mech's feet as he explained, "Ratchet received pulses of distress from you early morning. When Rafael called, worried that Miko had not made it to school, we began to investigate. We bridged to your last coordinates and surveyed the area to find signs of struggle. By this time Ratchet reported the Jackhammer missing and your signal moving away at an alarming pace. When we traced your coordinates again to the shipyard, we feared the worst."

Frustrated and feeling helpless incapacitated on the medical berth, Wheeljack ground his jaw. "By the time we ground bridged out to you . . ." Optimus continued, a heavy note in his voice. He paused. "I feared you dead when I first saw you," he said more gently than before. "We did not see Miko anywhere, and Dreadwing nearly landed his killing blow to you if we had not showed up to save you."

"But Miko wasn't hurt," Wheeljack said, satisfied that out of the entire ordeal she had made it out unscathed.

"The chains chafed her skin a little," Ratchet reported, "but other than that, she sustained no serious damage."

Wheeljack twisted his head to look up at the Prime when he hesitated. "Well, what is it?" he asked him. "Spit it out."

Optimus's face kept indifference, but his optics tightened a little at his show of brash manner. "Wheeljack," he stated, "you placed one of the humans under my protection in danger. While you are not an established member of my team, I trusted you with Miko considering the circumstances."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics, sensing a greater meaning behind his words. "Don't beat around the bush, Prime," he said flatly to him. "Just say it: because of Bulkhead's death, you let me stick around with her."

A flash of pain crossed Optimus's optics. "That I did," he said, and his voice hardened to a leader's tone. "As you so tastefully put it, I will not beat around the bush. Your mindless lust for revenge against Dreadwing has impaired your judgment, and I do not trust you as guardian to Miko."

"That's a bunch of bull, and you know it Prime!" Wheeljack snarled at him, pressing a hand to the berth to lean up some. He was starting to really feel the height difference now. "I shielded her from a grenade, and you doubt that I can keep her safe?"

"I do not doubt the lengths you will go to keep her safe," Optimus stated evenly, blue optics boring unwavering into him, "but I do doubt your sincerity of staying away from danger to keep her safe. After all, if you had not foolishly attacked Dreadwing out of spite and left Miko unguarded, we would not be in this predicament, now would we?"

Wheeljack felt his jaw grind tightly. "You honestly went there, didn't you?" Wheeljack scowled. "Miko WANTS to be with me. You're willing to piss her off when she's just starting to get over Bulkhead's death?"

Optimus kept his luminous gaze on Wheeljack. He didn't let him weasel in an inch. "Until you can prove your trustworthiness again, she will remain in the care of another Autobot."

Wheeljack scoffed. "Right, and what do I have to do to PROVE myself?" he sneered.

"I do not know," the Prime regarded him coolly, "but perhaps your conduct in the future may have an impact on it." When Wheeljack scowled more with anger, the Prime needled, "And judging by Miko's reaction to you just now, I doubt she wants to be in your presence."

Wheeljack winced at the lethally accurate accusation, falling into brooding silence. The Prime chose to dismiss himself and walked off, leaving Ratchet to poke and prod in his wound with more ferocity than Wheeljack honestly thought needed.

Despising Dreadwing anymore than he already did was hard to fathom, but Wheeljack found the undying need for revenge against the bot grow until he nearly bled it from his systems. He killed Seaspray; he killed Bulkhead; he nearly killed Miko, and proceeded to get him in a predicament where he couldn't be with her.

Rage broiled beneath Wheeljack's metal. He would kill that 'Con, slowly, leisurely, and enjoy the look on Dreadwing's face when he realized that there was no escape from him. He'd make him FEEL what he felt when he killed Seaspray and Bulkhead, and he'd let him suffer the fear the way Miko had.

Wheeljack gritted his teeth again. It was a pity Dreadwing's brother was already in the scrap heap. Now there was no one Dreadwing was close to so he could exploit the proud Decepticon with. He'd just have to settle with having triumph over the Decepticon and revel in the look in his optics of failure. Then, he'd finally squeeze every last drop of energon from his body, and when Dreadwing had finally fallen low enough to beg for mercy, he'd kill him with his grenade.

And maybe he'd rip an arm off Optimus too. Primus knew that know-it-all Prime deserved it.

And he'd teach Miko a lesson too. What was with her, throwing a temper tantrum like some spoiled brat? Just because he didn't like her music, didn't mean she was entitled to go and cry to some boy! Wheeljack felt his anger continue to peak. Yes, he'd teach her a lesson too—granted, it would be painless. Maybe he'd string her upside down by her feet until she apologized for being bitchy.

Wheeljack's thoughts continued like this for some time, spitting venom in every which direction except himself, blaming everyone else for what had happened to him. He cursed Ratchet mentally and verbally for his graceless medical help.

And thus, Wheeljack's next week was spent sulking in spite. After being discharged from Ratchet's medical needs, he was put out of the base. Somehow, in those three days of being forced to stay to medical help, he hadn't seen Miko at all. Her guitar still lied in the floor.

And so, after those three days being shunned in the base, Wheeljack left. He took the Jackhammer and went as far away from Jasper Nevada as possible, ending up somewhere around the world in a placed called Poland. He brooded there too, casting blame everywhere but himself and destroying a forest he was so irate. He left quickly after that and ended up in Africa in the hot desert somewhere.

He hated the sand. He really did. It got everywhere; in his peds, his gears, his wiring, his articulators. But it suited him as he began to miss Miko and all her annoying traits, even that Primus-awful music. He promised himself he wouldn't play any of it, but he ended up looking up her favorite song anyway.

He listened to the electric guitars critically. With it quieter and not causing his audio receptors to ring uncomfortably, he could almost decipher it as music. The guitar he understood—yes, he supposed you could call it music because it probably took real talent to play it like that. But the screaming he could do without. Obscure Hungarian speed metal—only Miko.

It took one more day for Wheeljack to man up and take the blame for himself. Maybe it was his fault. He knew he had to protect Miko, but he went ahead and attacked Dreadwing instead. He argued vehemently with himself over this fact, a part of him festering because he lusted for the bot's energon so badly, but a part of him felt guilty that he had failed Miko like that.

Leaning tensely against the Jackhammer's blistering hot hull, Wheeljack gritted his teeth tightly, shoulders hunching. Pressing his forearms and forehead against it, he tried to argue himself into letting it go, but he couldn't just give up on his friends after promising them that he would avenge them. Primus, Dreadwing deserved it! He couldn't give up revenge, wouldn't give it up, because it was the only thing he could do to ensure a peaceful resting place for his fallen.

And a safe living for the one still alive . . .

His spark gave a hurtful pang, and Wheeljack let out a trembling sigh of defeat. His shoulders slumped.

"Primus, Miko," he whispered. "I miss you . . ."

The girl had done went and got under his metal. Once again, Wheeljack blamed it on Bulkhead, but found himself getting back into the Jackhammer and piloting it away from his misery.

He could make it back to Nevada by nightfall, and he'd simply pick her up in the morning.

After all, even if she didn't want to talk to him, she'd come if just to miss school.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Ouch, Optimus! Little harsh, maybe? (nah, he never really liked Wheeljack anyways) XD**

**I think the cutest part was that Wheeljack kept asking if she was hurt and they had to keep telling her she was fine. ^^ I didn't realize i did that until I read over this again.**


	6. Hate Love

**Author's Note:**

**I cried.**

**Song of inspiration (oddly . . .)**

**www.**

**youtube.**

**com/**

**watch?v=GOeZsTS4-n8&feature=relmfu**

**And now . . . I have no idea what I'm doing with this story. XD**

**Also, thank you all for all the reviews, I really enjoy reading them and hearing your voices :)**

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><p>Cruising into Miko's neighborhood, Wheeljack pulled to a stop in front of her house. Waiting for the appropriate time—when he heard her finally moving around in her room—he gave two light honks. After a moment, a tired and grumpy Miko flung open her blinds and threw open the window.<p>

"Jeez, Bee, why are you so—!"

She stopped, eyes bugging wide at the sight of Wheeljack in her driveway. He twitched his rearview mirrors and popped open the passenger side door.

Her lips thinned, and she disappeared from the window.

For some reason, Wheeljack felt his spark starting to pound harder. He snorted at his insecure self—of course she was going to come . . . right?

The door was opened some minutes later to Miko fully dressed and her guitar in hand, backpack slung on a shoulder. Coming to stand right in front of him, she narrowed her eyes a bit distrusting.

Wheeljack shifted rather uncomfortably on his suspension. "Hey," he finally said.

Her lips pressed again, and she tossed her junk in the back seat before getting in the front.

She buckled up, crossing her arms, and Wheeljack pulled out of her driveway slowly. "No greeting for me?"

She looked up with faked surprise. "Oh. Well, hi then."

Wheeljack felt irritation rise in him as he drove up to the first stop sign. "What did I do to deserve THAT tone?" he demanded, and her brown eyes flashed fire.

"A week!" she shouted at him, hitting his dashboard. "It took you a week to come back? And then all you've got to say to me is hey!"

Wheeljack jerked the seatbelt taunt against her, growling, "That's not all I've got to say to you, but obviously you won't listen to a Primus-forsaken thing I've got to say!"

"You haven't even said anything!" she yelled back.

Wheeljack gunned his engine in irritation, and took a left. Miko's jaw ground audibly. "School is the OTHER way," she sniffed. "Unless you're planning on kidnapping me like Dreadwing did."

Wheeljack slammed on the breaks, causing Miko to squeak and throw out her hands. She whipped back so hard into the seat she bounced.

"Don't you EVER compare me to that fragging murderer," Wheeljack hissed to her, successfully making the color drain from her cheeks. "I am NOT him. Now apologize, you spoiled brat, because I sure as hell don't deserve any of the temper tantrums that you've given me."

"Well, I don't deserve to be lied to!" she snapped back. A small blush touched her cheeks, and she looked down, frowning at her knees.

"You just keep that thought to yourself right now," Wheeljack muttered, taking the interstate out of Jasper. "I'm taking you out to the desert. You can kiss school goodbye for today. We're going to talk things out and get some things straight right now."

"Good," Miko sneered, but since she didn't have anything else to bite back with, she fell silent and glared out the window.

When they were far enough out of Jasper on the highway, Wheeljack turned off the road and into the sand. Heading some miles in until they were all alone, he rolled to a stop and opened his door. Miko got out, and he transformed up.

"All right, look—" He paused, rolling his eyes in exasperation. Opening his chest plating, he reached in and fished out her guitar and backpack, sitting them down next to her. "All right, Miko, I want to get some things straight right now. No—I want to get _everything_ straight right now. Let's start with that awful way you woke me up from stasis."

She crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "Why do you think? I wanted you to wake up!"

"And you couldn't have just let me do that on my own?" he barked at her, her accusing tone starting to really irk him.

"No!" she shouted back. "You were out cold for THREE DAYS! Ratchet was getting worried, and I heard him muttering about something that could trigger you waking up, and since it worked with Bulkhead, I thought it would work with you—and it did!"

Wheeljack scowled. "And hurt my audio receptors like hell!" he said back, crossing his arms. "Did it ever occur to you that something so loud waking up from a stasis in critical condition was going to piss me off?"

"It's your fault!" she yelled back, patches of pink starting to dye her cheeks with rage. "I thought you LIKED my music, so it wouldn't have mattered 'cause you would have been jamming with me, but instead to tell me to turn that shit down!"

"Watch your mouth," he growled, jabbing a finger down at her.

"Make me," she sniffed, turning her nose up. "I know what slag parallels to in English, and you've been cursing at me, so I don't see the problem!"

"You don't like it when I curse?" Wheeljack snapped.

"No! I don't!"

"Well, what else do you not like?"

As the sun rose higher and got hotter in the morning, red heat began to flush Miko's cheeks more. "I don't like it that you lied to me!" she shouted at him, fists clenching. She was utterly tiny at his peds, but she seemed intent on making him believe that his height didn't intimidate her. "I HATE it that you lied to me! If you didn't like my music, you should have just told me!"

Wheeljack got down on a knee to get his face closer to her. "Is that right? Then let's get it out right now—I hate your taste in music. It's Primus awful, and sounds like Cybertronians dying on the battlefield!"

"Oh yeah?" she gritted between her teeth rather shrilly. The pitch hurt Wheeljack's audio receptors. "Well I hate your paint job! I hate how white it is and so perfectly perfect it is, like you're some spoiled prick who's afraid of a little scratch!"

Wheeljack gave one, scornful laugh, making her eyes narrow when the sun glinted off his armor. "Is that all you've got?" he sneered down at her. "I hate every inch of you and how squishy and breakable you are, all the way down to the disgusting mucus and the sickening way you lose waste! And I also hate the way it you dress, like your wardrobe just exploded on you like you were blind when you put it on you look so bad!" Miko gave him a hurt look, so Wheeljack leaned closer until he was just in front of her face. "C'mon, Babe," he taunted her. "You're not going to hurt my precious little feelings. Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

"Fine!" she shouted back, fists clenching tightly. "I will! I hate you! Everything about you! I hate how reckless you are, and the way it's going to get you killed! I hate that your alt mode is a prissy little sports car instead of something bulky! I hate your one grenade policy! What happens if you miss, huh? You just outta luck? Gonna die cause you were stupid enough not to carry extra?"

"Is that so?" he snorted at her. "I hate your prissy little attitude like everything in the world has to go your way! Some day you've got to wake up out of this fantasy world and realize that not everythng's perfect!"

"I did!" she shrieked at him, tears pricking her eyes. "When Bulkhead died, you bastard!" Wheeljack recoiled a little, taken off guard by her vehemence, but she didn't stop there. "I hate you! I hate you and I hate that you didn't save him! You should have been able to save him! I hate that you were dumb enough to go running into a trap and I hate that your reckless attitude got Bulkhead killed!"

"Yeah?" Wheeljack snapped back, cold blue optics glaring down at her. "I hate all the stories Bulkhead got to tell me about YOU running recklessly into danger and how worried he was that you were going to get hurt! Takes one to know one, missy!"

"I hate you!" she screamed again, face red and tears starting to film her eyes. "I hate your flippant attitude! I hate it when you call me Babe! I hate that you just moved on like Bulkhead never existed! I hate that you just left when Optimus told you to instead of fighting to stay with me! I hate that you deserted me! I hate that you're so obsessed with Dreadwing, I hate that you got hurt instead of me, I hate that I want you to kill Dreadwing, I hate that there's green in your paintjob, I hate that you never finished that horror story, I hate that you blow yourself up when you work with your gadgets, I hate everything about you, and I hate that you didn't save Bulkhead!"

Wheeljack watched her carefully as her screaming escalated until she stopped, having run out of things to hate him for. She was blinking rapidly, fighting back her tears to stay angry at Wheeljack, and he scowled down at him. "I hate your careless way you talk to everyone, like they don't have feelings!" he shot back at her, and she jutted her chin up, daring him to hurt her feelings. "I hate when you put your feet up on my dashboard, and I hate your demanding tone! I hate your selfish ways, I hate that you ignored me when I was getting repaired at the base, I hate that you think you can get everything your way, and I love your determination!" The shift in words was so sudden that Wheeljack almost didn't register it, but merely went with the flow. "I love your pink hair, it's wild that you're brave enough to wear it like that! I love it when you call me Jackie, it reminds me of my Wrecking team and old times!"

"Yeah?" she interrupted with a shout, glaring up at him. "Well, I love how sleek your alt mode looks! I love the way your optics look, and I love hearing all your stories about Cybertron!" She kept going, as if it were a contest to see who could outnumber the other with how much they hated and loved each other. The sun rose high, cooking Wheeljack's metal.

"I love that you were such good friends with Bulkhead!" she shouted, tears welling in her eyes. "I love it when you call me Babe—nobody's ever given me a nickname before! I love that you're cool enough to disobey Optimus's orders, and I love it that you do what you want, when you want, how you want! I love it that you're letting me skip school because no one else does! I love your cocky attitude, I love how cool you fight with your swords, I love that you can get along just fine without anyone helping you, I love how you're my new guardian, I love how you never gave up on Bulkhead even in the end, I love that you're willing to avenge him, and I love everything you've done for me!"

Her voice broke on a little sob, and she turned away, crossing her arms and literally quaking with passion. She tried to stifle her tears, but they were coming anyway. Venting a soft sigh from his gears, Wheeljack rested on his knee, reaching out a finger to touch her.

"Well, I love it that you won't let me see you cry," he told her quieter, pressing his finger to her back in support. She still refused to look at him, but that only heightened how impressed he was of her. "I love it that you won't let anybody see you when you're weak, and I love it that you won't let anyone bully you. I loved it when you stood up to those girls at the KO Burger, and I love it that you won't ever let anyone take advantage of you."

Shifting his hand, Wheeljack tenderly moved a finger to swipe at her face to wipe the tears away. She sniffed, almost inaudibly. "I love how soft your cheeks are," he told her, shifting to shield her from the hot sun. "It amazes me that you can be so squishy and still live. I love how your body . . . regenerates? when you get it hurt. I love how it can heal itself. I love how determined you are to help your friends even when you can't. I love hearing you play your guitar even if it hurts my ears because you're so good at it. I love seeing you smile, I love seeing you happy, and I love seeing you immersed in the things you love." He paused, and he let out a soft sigh. "I love it that you were so worried about me . . . Other than my Wrecking team, there's never been someone like that."

Miko sniffed again, scrubbing her face once more before glancing up to Wheeljack. "Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry." She hugged his finger tightly, sniffing again and wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "Sorry about the snot too . . . But I'm sorry about the music."

"It's fine," he interrupted her gently. He nudged her. "I should have just told you I didn't like it."

She shook her head, looking down at the sand beneath her feet. "No, I shouldn't have gotten so mad. It was stupid. I just . . . I guess I took it too personally. I always did want to be a famous rock star when I grew up . . ."

Wheeljack felt a pang in his spark. There was the heart of the matter. "Of course you can become a famous rock star," he reassured her. She blinked red ringed eyes up at him, and Wheeljack sighed again, sitting down crisscross and picking her up to sit on his palm. He bent his head down to her level. "You can be anything you want to be," he told her seriously.

She swiped at a hair in her face. "I can?"

He snorted. "Of course you can! Who told you otherwise? I'll break them to slag. You can be whatever you want to be. And you can damn well be a rock star." Remembering part of her rant where she didn't like his cursing, he felt his brows pinch. Oops. "Well, judging by what I've heard with you playing that guitar, you can be a rock star in a heartbeat. You play it better than most, and if you can keep up and play the songs your favorite band plays, I know you can do it."

Guileless brown eyes stared up at him in wonder. "Really? You really think that?"

"Course I do," he said with a grin, shrugging. "I said it, didn't I? And Primus knows I'm not ever going to lie to you again."

Miko gave a little smile at that, and then she dropped her head. After a moment, she whispered, "Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

Her hands clenched in her lap. Her tear filled voice rasped, "I miss Bulkhead."

Wheeljack thought he felt a knife skewer through his spark. Cupping her carefully in his hand, he scooped her in close to his chest. "I know," he said quietly, feeling her tiny fingers grip his chest plating. Her cheek rested above his grieving spark. "I miss him too."

Tears began to leak from her eyes again. "He was the only one who understood me," she cried softly, irregular hiccups making her that much more pathetic and precious. "Not my host parents, not even my real parents. Why—Why did he have to _die_?"

Wheeljack closed his eyes, feeling something thick constrict his throat. He swallowed carefully before answering, "I don't know, Miko, I just . . . Primus, do you see now, Miko? This is why I have to kill Dreadwing. I—There's this place in me that won't rest until I know Dreadwing is dead and Bulkhead is avenged, and you're safe. You can see that—you and I loved Bulkhead more than the rest of them."

Wheeljack turned his face away, cringing slightly. "I know Optimus means good . . . I know he does. It's just . . . He didn't know Bulkhead like we did. Sure, he was good friends, and I knew he cares a lot about Bulkhead, but he didn't connect with him like we did. Our pain is different, and only we can help each other through this."

Miko's fist hit his chest plates, banging a little. "I hate him, Wheeljack," she hiccupped angrily. "I hate that—that Dreadwing. I—I want him dead! I—I want to kill him!" Her voice broke again in shame at what she was saying, and her crying renewed in force. "He doesn't deserve to live! Not after what he did to us! To Bulkhead—!"

Wheeljack took another steadying breath, feeling his insides tremble. Primus, he hadn't meant to push his lust for revenge on her . . . unless hers had already been there to begin with, and she had been too scared to admit it. Before Wheeljack could formulate a response, Miko sobbed on.

"But I—I know it's wrong, Jackie, I know it's wrong! I shouldn't want it!" She sniffled, hiccupping again. She hit his chest again, pressing desperately into him. "But I—as much as I want it, I don't! I can't! I—I want him dead, but I just don't think it's worth it! I—" She took a shuddering breath, trying to breathe and explain herself both as well as control her raging emotions. "It's just not worth it," she wept helplessly, fingers grasping him tightly. "Jackie, I—I don't want to lose you, and I'm so afraid if you keep trying to get revenge on Dreadwing, I'll lose you too!"

Spark contracting painfully, Wheeljack rasped immediately, "Don't cry, Miko. I'm right here. I'm right here, I'm never leaving you. I promise."

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, Wheeljack tried to fight back the lubricant he felt welling up threateningly. He hunched over her, feeling himself tremble as he sucked in shallow and steadying breaths. "Please, don't leave me, Jackie, don't leave . . ."

"I'll never leave," he rasped tightly again, voice quavering against his will. "I'm right here, Babe, I'm with you. I'm not going anywhere."

Wheeljack felt his throat work hard around the tears that began to leak down his cheeks. Miko embraced close to his chest wept quietly, alternately kissing and hitting his chest. They stayed that way for quite some time in the middle of the blazing hot desert, and Wheeljack finally worked around his quailing emotions to control them. Taking a steadying breath, Wheeljack looked down on the tiny human cupped in his hand.

She was calming down now, the flush of red receding from her cheeks save for the heat of day, but she was in desperate need of a tissue. Wheeljack sighed to himself—how to fix this now? Seeing her pressed against his chest, Wheeljack suddenly got an idea.

"Hey, Miko?"

She sniffed again, looking up with those big brown eyes. "Yeah?"

His spark lurched with a myriad of cherishing emotion. "Would you like to see my spark chamber?"

Her brows pinched a little as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Your spark chamber?"

Wheeljack nodded. "It's . . . like a chest cavity. It holds my spark, which is like my heart."

Her eyes widened. "You can just . . . show me that? Isn't that dangerous?"

The hint of a smirk touched his lips. "Only if you plan on hurting me it is," he said.

Miko wiped her cheeks again, looking up at him uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure," he said immediately. "Ready for this?"

Miko bit her lip but nodded, looking towards his chest eagerly, all traces of tears gone. Wheeljack felt a lead weight lift—she wasn't crying anymore.

Opening it up, Wheeljack immediately felt horribly exposed, both in the sense of nakedness and extremely unprotected, but watching the wonder coil in Miko's face was well worth it. She breathed out in awe, the reflection of the glowing energies of his life mirrored in her brown eyes.

"Jackie, it's . . . it's really beautiful . . . That's what keeps you alive?"

"Sure does," he told her, moving her a bit closer so she could see the light blue sparkles clearer. "It's my life force. See it beating? It puts the energon through my system, just like a heart."

"Whoa . . ."

Wheeljack felt himself smiling down at her innocent wonder, but when she reached out to touch it, he pulled her back some. "Nah, I wouldn't touch it."

Her eyes flicked up briefly to his before returning to his spark, riveted. "Is it that sensitive?"

Wheeljack felt a chuckle rumble through his chest. "Well, it's my heart. What do you think?"

Miko didn't respond that time, caught in her own private fairy tale as she drank in the beauty of his spark. "I can protect that . . ." she whispered, and he felt her hands tighten on him.

A wave of touched emotion rippled through him. Before she could impossibly see his all just by looking at his spark, Wheeljack bashfully closed his chest paneling over his spark chamber again.

"Well," he started in rather roughly, "glad you liked that. See? Interactive learning. If Ratchet had given you a lecture on sparks you wouldn't have been interested at all, but when you get to see it you were perfectly fine."

Miko groaned, rolling her eyes and flopping back dramatically. "PLEASE don't give Ratchet any ideas. I get enough rag from him as it is."

Wheeljack laughed, setting her back down on the sands as the day drew ever closer to the middle of the day. "Sure thing, Babe. You're secret is safe with me."

She smiled back, and then, she suddenly looked left and right. "Can you keep another secret?" she asked him, and Wheeljack leaned down in confiding silence.

"Sure thing. What is it?"

Her brown eyes held some sort of . . . mischief. "Well, I—I never told Bulkhead because I know he would have been really embarrassed and disapproving, and Primus knows my parents don't know . . . But I've always wanted to go streaking."

Wheeljack felt laughter rise in him. "Well, then go for it!" he urged her, unable to stop chuckling at her daring nature. "Ain't nobody going to hear it from me!"

She grinned, but looked left and right again, as if afraid of getting caught in the middle of nowhere streaking was worse than being with a giant, alien robot. "Okay!" she burst, practically quivering with anticipation. She paused, and then made a face at Wheeljack. "But, I think I'll keep my underwear on, cause I don't want sand up in that area."

Wheeljack did a rather over exaggerated groan, putting both hands out as a ward against her words. "Primus—Miko! Babe, that was too much information! We might be different species, but I know what all that is! Just strip down and get moving—or are you chicken?"

"I'm not a chicken!" she burst in excited denial, quickly throwing off her tank top and shirt, leaving her braless in the middle of the desert. Wheeljack bellowed with laughter as she fought the laces of her boots, struggling to get undressed quick enough for her own pride's sake.

Wheeljack felt his optics warm as he looked down on her stripping out of her clothing with reckless abandon, and he felt his spark swell with territorial love. Feeling the love that no doubt Bulkhead had felt towards the young girl, Wheeljack knew that she was swindling her way into his spark at an alarming rate. She was the sparkling he never had, and as she finally peeled her sticking leggings from her sweating body, his lips tipped up. Yes, she was his charge, and he'd protect her with his life.

Miko grinned impishly up at Wheeljack. "I—I'm streaking! Look at me!" She laughed, completely naked except for her underwear which was unsurprisingly black and red striped boy shorts. She pouted her lips, cocked an eyebrow, and put her hands on her hips. "Tell me, Jackie—aren't I sexy?"

"Like a femme with high grade," Wheeljack confirmed with a thumbs up.

She was ridiculous. But that was something else he loved about her. As she began to laugh and play around in the sands, Wheeljack felt his spark swell at the sight of her.

She was special. Precious. And she was his charge. Admitting it to himself, Wheeljack finally allowed himself to embrace the thought:

Dreadwing could wait. Miko was his most important priority.

And, she was currently giddy with silliness. She whooped, running off and pumping her fists to the sky excitedly.

"It's too hot for clothes anyway!"


	7. Our Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

**SO SO SO SO SORRY! I know it's been a really long time since I've updated, I just . . . had SEIROUS battles with writer's block for weeks, and then when I tried to write this I didn't like anything I wrote. I've rewritten this several times because I didn't like it, flipping ideas since I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this story anymore . . . ^^ Anyway, I kinda liked this latest try at writing the next chapter, so I said to myself, "This is probably the best it'll get," and am uploading it before angry fans claw me to death through the computer.**

**Honestly, the song of inspiration for this chapter was "History" by _EXO-K. _Just open a tab to youtube and look it up, Fanfiction always slams and messes up links and even if you write it out it crops it up to impossible . . .**

**Hope you guys will forgive me for being so lax, but here's the next chapter and I hope you like it!**

**(ps, if anyone has ideas for what can happen, feel free to tell me! I may or may not use it, but lots of times other people's ideas help jumpstart mine!)**

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><p>"What are you doing this time?"<p>

Wheeljack carefully froze, glancing up to Miko on the other side of the base. "It's a surprise," he told her, refocusing down on the tiny capsule. Using a pair of tweezers to hook important cords together, he heard Miko scoff.

"Seriously? What is that, a grenade? You might want to make it, what, ten times bigger if YOU'RE wanting to throw it." She snorted again. "Seriously."

"You'll see," was all he would tell her.

The damn thing had already misfired three times and forced him to start from scratch, and Ratchet hadn't been happy. The stubborn Doc kept saying it was a waste of parts to repair Wheeljack . . . _And_ in a way, it was, considering how many times he had hurt himself already. Another optic, two fingers, and an audio receptor were his latest fixings from the LAST times this item had blown up in his face . . . He wouldn't get started on things that had blown up before this endeavor.

Wheeljack zoomed an optic in on the tiny contraption, keeping meticulous care not to do anything stupid again. Faintly, he heard Miko hooking up her guitar, and the thought made his lips twitch into a combination of a grimace and smile. He was grateful to the big Prime for allowing him to stay despite his misgivings, and he was happy to see Miko happy . . . but by _Primus_ her music choice was awful!

Wheeljack breathed a sigh when he FINALLY got the irritating contraption finished, and he set his tools down. Now, for a test run. Sliding the latch that would start the countdown, a premature explosion shocked straight up his suspension. Howling in pain when he felt his hand shatter open and energon gush out, Wheeljack slapped a palm to cover the bleeding wound.

_"Wheeljack!"_

Miko's screech was a combination of livid and worried, but after how many times he had detonated himself she was finally getting the hang of not letting it get to her.

"What the heck are you doing?"

Wheeljack chuckled at her indignation. "Don't worry about it, Babe." Touching his audio receptor, Wheeljack told a no doubt fuming Ratchet, "Don't you worry about me, Doc, you've wasted enough time. I'll handle myself this time."

An extremely fed up medic exclaimed, _"My name is not DOC!" _before he quickly terminated the line.

Wheeljack chuckled at how easily perturbed he was before making a face. Getting back up to his feet, he walked to the back for the medical equipment, and he was a little more than surprised to have Miko trailing him like a faithful puppy.

"You can do it yourself?" she asked.

Wheeljack laughed then. "Miko, from being alone all the time, I learned to take care of myself. 'Course I can do it myself."

"That's cool," she said. "Can I watch?"

Wheeljack felt his mouth pull into a smirk. "Sure thing. But, I didn't think you interested in that medical stuff."

He pulled his hand forward to keep his energon from dripping on her head as she walked next to him. "THAT'S because Ratch doesn't let me get close. He wants me to sit and listen to a lecture." She snorted at that.

Wheeljack waggled his eyebrows at her and gave a secretive wink as he pushed the large door open for her. "Interactive learning."

Miko blushed sky high. "No—it's not!" She then rushed into the room much faster than Wheeljack, leaving the Wrecker to silently laugh at her.

Grabbing the medical supplies and getting straight to the point, Wheeljack sat down and got his hand low so Miko could see.

Frowning at the damage, Wheeljack picked up a fine-tuned welder. "Well, first I'm gonna stop all this bleeding before I can do anything," he told her, and he watched her hop up on her toes to get a better look as he fished around and found the tubes that were the culprits of draining his energy. Then, trading for tweezers again, he said, "Now I get to pinch these wires back together so they'll hold and recover."

As he did so, clenching his jaw tight from the pain that induced, Miko perked up, watching as he did so. "You can do that? You don't have to replace them?"

Refusing to hiss from pain, Wheeljack muttered tightly, "Yeah . . . They're part bio mechanics. It's gonna be uncomfortable and feel stiff the rest of the day, but once I get a good recharge, the recovery cycle should kick in. They'll fuse back together and heal over, but my hand is going to be sore as hell tomorrow."

Miko rolled her eyes at the explicative, and Wheeljack had to silently remind himself not to do that. Peering at his fingers, he was glad to see they had escaped most of the damage, and he saved them for later. Shifting his hand over so the rest of the free energon would drain out and give him a clear view, he grunted in approval.

"Good. None of the base struts were broken or damaged."

Walking around, uncaring that she was stepping in the energon that pooled on the floor, Miko gazed down at the open wound. "What're those?"

"They're like my bones," he said. "Those would have been a bit trickier to remove and get fixed and a pain in my afterburner. Now, as for plating to cover up my now blasted open hand . . ."

Rummaging in a kit of extra parts, Wheeljack searched for the right part. A prod at his gaping wound make him make a small half-growl half-gasp of pain, and he twitched his hand away from the offending human.

"Hey! What're you doing?"

"Investigating," she said, leaning over so her face was almost inside the hole. "Did that really hurt?"

Wheeljack rolled his optics, groaning. "Like a high grade hangover. What did you expect? How about I go putting MY hand in yours?"

Miko poked out her tongue, waggling her fingers up at him. "Sorry. I doubt they'd fit."

Wheeljack grumbled, returning to his scavenger hunt. "Yeah, well, I'd find SOMETHING to fit . . ." Suddenly, he felt his fingers brush over exactly what he was looking for. "Aha! Here we are." Pulling out the metal piece, he pulled scraps of the old pieces loose and fitted the new part over it. "Then, we screw it in here . . . not too tight so you can still move . . ." Doing so, making quick time, he picked up the welder again. "Weld the edges shut to keep it on . . ." He did that too, making sure Miko was well away so the light and sparks wouldn't hurt her eyes or irritate her skin.

"Last but not least," he told her, picking up the wrench. He waved it threateningly at her, making her snicker at the silent pun on the master-mind of wrench hitting (it was unsaid that it was Ratchet), "I'll tighten my fingers up 'cause that blast rattled them loose." Doing so until his fingers worked properly, Wheeljack tossed the wrench aside and held out his appendage for Miko to see. He wiggled and flexed every finger, rotating his undamaged wrist. "Viola! Like brand new."

Miko grinned, brown eyes twinkling up at him. "That is sick! Maybe you could do open spark surgery on Ratchet. I'd love to watch that!"

Laughing warmly, Wheeljack picked up his charge and set her on his shoulder. Shoving the medical kit together in no particular order—a gesture that would tax Ratchet's patience even more—Wheeljack told her, "Give me just a second more to clean up that energon. Then we'll head back."

Miko huffed a dramatic sigh. "Seriously? I hate cleaning up."

Wheeljack chuckled, washing away the old energon. "Well, if one thing I WILL clean up, it's energon. It'll end up stinking up the place."

Miko held on to his audio receptor to keep her balance, and surprise flashed across her face. "Really? I didn't know energon smells." She took an overly exhuberant deep breath, and she frowned. "I don't smell anything."

Wheeljack frowned with her. How to explain . . . ? He grunted. "Well, it's kinda like the smell of blood, only . . . different. It's a lot more subtle. That's probably why you can't smell it. If it gets REALLY strong it smells kinda like a burned-out socket that's been fried. And with that, the same smell that blood has that makes your stomach roll."

Miko wrinkled her nose at the description. "Ugh, that's disgusting! I bet that means you'll be cleaning up the mess you made in that training room, too."

"You got that right." Wheeljack chuckled, letting her off his shoulder. "If you wanna scram to the training room again, go ahead."

She snapped her fingers and pointed her index at him. "NO problem. Enjoy yourself, Cinderella."

Wheeljack frowned as she left, the name "Cinderella" really throwing him off guard. Looking her up, he grunted in slight amusement at her pun on Cinderella cleaning for the evil step-mother and step-sisters.

"Only Doc's no evil step-mother," Wheeljack muttered as he cleaned up the energon. Primus knew the Doc was much worse than that, though it was fun to push his buttons.

After cleaning up all the energon, Wheeljack began to work on his little invention again. Double checking everything, he found the idiotic mistake and rerouted the wiring from the detonator to the timer, praying that this time it would work properly. Sliding the latch, Wheeljack let out a breath when it began the countdown correctly this time. Sliding the latch back into place, the countdown stopped. After waiting several excruciatingly long seconds, it didn't blow. A grin split Wheeljack's face.

"Hey, Miko!"

She stopped her jamming to look up at him, and he waved a hand. "Stay right there! I'll be right back—I'm going on a test run!"

Her eyes popped. She began to take off her guitar. "Wait—I'm coming with you!"

Wheeljack shook his head, pointing at her, "Stay right there! I'll be back before you know it!"

Chuckling to himself in excitement, Wheeljack hurried back to the front, transformed down, and left the silo. Ratchet burst out asking where he was going, but Wheeljack didn't grace him with a response he was so eager to see this work. Going several miles out from the silo, far away from the interstate roads, Wheeljack transformed up again, grinning to himself.

He pulled out the tiny grenade, so small he could barely hold it. Sliding the latch again, he meticulously counted the five seconds, throwing the grenade far away from him. It exploded miraculously in the hot air of the desert, causing a fountain of sands to spurt up.

Wheeljack laughed, long and clear.

Heading back inside and brushing off both an irritated Ratchet and then an irritated Miko, he created the grenade twice over, twice over checking it for flaws and danger. When it worked perfectly for the third time in a row, he knew it was safe.

Miko pointed ignored him the next time he came in, but Wheeljack just chuckled to himself, knowing she was going to be thrilled with this. Making the human-sized grenade once more, he squatted in front of Miko.

"Hey, Babe, I've got something for you!"

She slammed her fingers down on her guitar strings really hard, causing Wheeljack to wince at the loud sound coming from the amp. She cocked an eyebrow at him, and as the guitar strum faded, said, "So NOW you'll talk to me?"

"I was busy," he said with an easy wave of his hand, for once not letting her spite get to him. He handed her the tiny grenade. "Check it out."

She took one look and her eyes popped. "_Wheeljack!_" she hissed, looking left and right for the others. "That's a _grenade!_ Are you crazy? Optimus would kill you!"

When she still hesitated to take it from his hands, Wheeljack pushed it towards her. "Then Optimus doesn't have to know," he said cheekily, winking at her.

Miko crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "Wheeljack. I break rules. But even _I_ know when not to push Optimus. You'll get yourself kicked out of here for sure! A grenade? Seriously—a _grenade?_ Wheeljack, I'd blow myself up!"

Wheeljack rolled his optics patiently. "That's why this one doesn't detonate on impact," he informed her. He held it closer. "You just slide the latch here—" Miko squealed, backing away and throwing up her arms, "and it'll detonate in five seconds." He slid the latch back. "Push the latch back in place, and the detonation sequence terminates. That way if it was just a false alarm you won't be blowing anything up." He grinned.

Miko stared wide eyed at the grenade he was offering her. It was completely against Autobot regulations though Wheeljack himself didn't seem to have a problem breaking those. It also posed incredible danger to Miko if she accidentally did something stupid with it. Not to mention Ratchet would finally have a cow and beat Wheeljack to scrap with a wrench and this time refuse to fix him when he was done.

The small human looked at the grenade warily and looked up at her new guardian. "Wheeljack? Why?"

He suddenly looked away. "Well, um . . ." It wasn't that he hadn't expected her to ask, it was more that he hadn't really thought about how he was going to explain himself. Small prickles of imaginary pain began to chase up his back. He tried to shrug nonchalantly. "Well, just in case. I mean—I'm not going to do anything stupid, I just . . . just in case, you know, something happens, and for some reason I'm not there . . ." Wheeljack grasped behind his neck a bit awkwardly, wondering if he was going over the top with this protection thing, but by Primus he wanted this girl safe. He scowled and shoved the grenade into her hands before she could say anything more. "Just take the slagging thing already!" At least if he couldn't protect her, she could protect herself.

Miko fumbled it a moment before holding the hand-held grenade. Wheeljack was still looking away uncertainly, and as she stared at the shiny silver sphere, she felt her heart flip.

_I can protect Wheeljack with this._

"Okay," she finally said, shoving it into her backpack. Wheeljack seemed surprised at her sudden agreement, but he didn't pursue it—it made it easier for him to brush it under the rug. Miko faced him again and arched an eyebrow. "We're not telling anyone about this," she said strictly, and Wheeljack had to resist the urge to chuckle at her seriousness. "Our secret."

"What secret?"

Miko yelped, whirling around in shock when Jack waltzed into the training room. "_Jack!_" she shrieked. She clenched her hands, brown eyes flashing daggers at the boy. "What the heck is your problem? At least warn us that you're going to sneak up on us!"

"I wasn't sneaking!" he defended himself. He frowned. "Besides, if it was sneaking, of course I wouldn't tell you." Then, Jack grinned minutely, leaning towards her, and waggled his eyebrows. "So, come on, tell me the secret."

Miko blushed sky high. "There is no secret!" she yelled at him, but Jack was undeterred.

"Well, judging by the guilty blush plastered over your face," he said cheekily, "I'd bet my life savings on a big secret. Come on, Miko, fess up!"

Wheeljack waved a hand nonchalantly, saving Miko from this awkward mess. "She just doesn't want me to tell anyone she has a crush on you."

Jack's eyes popped. Miko's jaw slacked as her own eyes widened rounder than saucers, and then, the pitch at which she shrieked nearly disabled Wheeljack's audio receptors.

_"WHEELJACK!"_

It only made it twice as worse for the punk girl when Jack laughed with sudden confidence, tossing a lock of hair. "Well, I knew I was good looking, but this is a surprise, Miko. I should have known!"

Miko whirled on Jack so fast Wheeljack almost pitied him—but then, he began to pity himself—there was no telling what horrors Miko would spring on him for even suggesting it, but as he looked on her face so red . . . he had a hunch he had been right.

"Let's get something straight, Jack!" she yelled at him, so furious that her nose was wrinkling. "I DO NOT like you! Wheeljack's just being stupid again!"

Jack just laughed comfortably, crossing his arms. He leaned close to her face with cocky superiority, sneering, "Oh, is that right? Then why are you blushing?"

The _slap!_ rang out before Wheeljack saw Miko's hand move and Jack recoiled with an angry shout. "Just what was that for?"

"For being a cocksure prick!" she hollered at the top of her lungs before stalking past him, face so red Wheeljack was sure she was going to pop a blood vessel.

"Hey!" Jack shouted, following her angrily, her handprint pulsing bright red on his white skin. "Get back here and stop acting like a spoiled brat!"

"Oh yeah?" she shot back. She didn't stop her angry march from the room. "Just because you're Optimus's teacher's pet doesn't mean I care!"

An incredulous look crossed over Jack's face before it was replaced with anger. "Miko!" he shouted, running after her. "Stop! I can't believe you're being so . . . Grow up! Miko—!"

Wheeljack chuckled to himself at the sight of them, hearing their bickering back and forth. They argued like a married couple! Since he could still hear the reverb of Miko's guitar, he turned off her amp and nearly sighed as the sound quite pounding on his audio receptors.

He frowned to himself. Maybe teasing her like that hadn't been a good idea. Who knows what would happen to Jack before this day was over, and . . .

Wheeljack shuddered. He'd have to keep an extra eye on Miko for whenever she decided to extract her revenge on him for humiliating her.


	8. Delinquents

**Author's Note:**

**For the record, I laughed all the way through this chapter. I was laughing so hard at some points I couldn't even type I was laughing so hard. :D**

**Also, does ANYONE know ANYTHING about the next episode of TFP? I've heard rumors that the next episode, whether Bulkhead dies or not, is coming sometime soon, August I heard? DOes anyone know anything? PLEASE!**

* * *

><p>"WHOO-HOO!"<p>

Wheeljack smashed his way through another small sand dune, inwardly rolling his optics while Miko was rolling in his seat. Primus he was going to regret this . . . He could already feel the grit hinging up his suspension. Tonight he was going to have a LONG decontamination bath.

But did he mind it this time?

…

Not really. Surprisingly enough.

Laughing as he revved his engine, Miko strapped in tight by the seatbelt, Wheeljack tore across the sands again, heading towards the next sand dune he saw. Miko squealed in appreciation.

"That one's bigger than the last one!"

He gave a haughty laugh. "And you think I can't bust it? Babe, you've got a lot to learn! Watch this!"

Bouncing off his tires, Wheeljack collided with the hill of unmoving sand. He felt the sand press in on every side as he was submerged for a few seconds, the sun completely blocked out, and then they rocketed out of the other side. Miko crowed in exultation as the dune collapsed in on itself behind them.

"Yeow! That was awesome!"

Wheeljack barked with laughter, jerking the wheel over and causing them to go into a sideways slide. "All right, there's my next target!" Shooting forward again to another good sized sand dune, Miko shouted in excitement. Bearing down on it, Wheeljack floored the gas pedal and slammed into the wall of sand. Miko hooted, pumping her fists in the air when they popped out of the other side. The dune capsized in on itself.

Miko grinned rakishly. "Oh yeah? Bulkhead would have totaled that one easy!"

"Would he have?" Wheeljack growled back playfully. Oh, she was going to regret that! Diverting his path, Wheeljack eyed his next target, filled with confidence. "How about that one, then?"

Her eyes widened. "Man, that's one of the big ones Bulkhead would get! Can you do it?"

"Can I?" Wheeljack repeated arrogantly. He floored it before she could protest, and if he were in his bipedal mode, a wicked grin would have split his features. "C'mon, Miko! I thought you knew me better!"

She gave a long whoop as they raced towards the hulking sand dune. "Let 'em have it!"

Wheeljack leapt towards the sand dune, nose of the sleek car smashing into it. However . . . he was a bit stunned when they stopped.

Gritting his dentures a bit irritably, Wheeljack pressed on the gas pedal. His engine roared, but the sand merely slipped from beneath his wheels as the sand on top of him got heavier and heavier, pressing on all sides.

Instead of being alarmed by the pitch black like he had expected, Miko was relaxing in his passenger seat. Actually . . . Wheeljack felt himself frown when he felt her body shaking slightly, but his sensors didn't pick up a high heart rate of fear . . . Wait a minute . . .

Her muffled laughing became clear when she proclaimed on a giggle, "You're stuck."

"I am not!" he declared hotly, confidence sputtering out as he realized, yes, he _was_ stuck. He grumbled to himself as Miko merely laughed at him more. Pressing on the gas again, Wheeljack felt himself sliding again, going nowhere, and the sand merely situating itself on top of him comfortably. Giving it up, Wheeljack muttered to himself.

Miko just snickered. "I guess you better get Ratchet to dig us out."

"_I guess you better get Ratchet to dig us out_," Wheeljack mimicked her peevishly under his breath—but he did access his communicator. "Doc . . ." Primus curse his pride, it was going to drop like a rock after this . . . "I think I need some help."

Miko's constant laughing didn't help the matter any. When Ratchet failed to respond, Wheeljack felt his frustration rise. "Doc!" he shouted into the communicator. "Pick up! I'm not playing around with you!" Still nothing. He paused. "Doc . . . ? Ratch? Ratchet?"

Wheeljack just barely managed to keep a colorful curse from jumping from his lips. Still, on the bright side, Miko stopped laughing. "Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

He felt her shuffle her feet uncertainly. "You got a hold of Ratchet, right?"

Wheeljack felt the silence stretch. "No."

Miko shifted again. "So we're stuck."

"Clearly."

"And no one knows where we are."

Wheeljack tried to shrug without success. "Ratchet knows we went dune bashing."

Miko snorted to cover up her doubt. "Like he could find us."

There was another uncomfortably pause as they sat stuck in the middle of a giant sand dune in pitch black dark. "Jackie? Is it the sand blocking the signal?"

Wheeljack grunted. "Well, it IS a lot of sand . . ."

Miko hesitated a moment more. "Well, you can get us out, right?"

Wheeljack felt his suspension groan beneath the weight of the sand. "Does it look like I was doing any good?" He pressed his gas pedal again for good measure.

"Great . . ."

Wheeljack had to suppress a laugh at her indignant tone as if this was somehow all _Wheeljack's_ fault. As if. She was the one that wanted to go dune bashing.

Miko shifted uncomfortably again. "Okay . . . Well, while we're here . . . Can I talk to you about something?"

Like they had anything better to do. "Sure. What's up?"

The silence stretched a bit. "Wheeljack, it's . . . personal."

He paused. "Miko, I don't know anything or want to have anything to do with your female problems."

His sensors picked up a sudden jump in her heat—she must be blushing, and it became apparent with her voice. "_Wheeljack!_ Ew, that is so wrong!" Wheeljack chuckled a little, amused that she found it worse than he did before she tried to continue. "I mean, well . . . It's . . . about Bulkhead."

Wheeljack's spark skipped a beat. "Oh! Uh, well yeah, sure. What is it?"

He felt her leg bouncing nervously, an indication to how serious she was being. She took a breath. "Wheeljack, I miss him. It wasn't fair that Dreadwing took him away from us so early . . . And I . . ." She stopped a moment, moving minutely again, and Wheeljack wished he could see her, but with no light beneath all that sand, it was all black.

"Jackie . . . You're right. Somebody's gotta avenge Bulkhead."

His spark literally froze. Conflicted with lust for Dreadwing's death and the need to protect Miko, he stammered, "A-Ah, um . . . You came up with that all on your own?"

"Yeah." He felt her nodding against the seat. "Besides, think about it. Dreadwing's not ever gonna leave us alone now. Optimus is worried that we'll get hurt by trying to take revenge, but . . . honestly, as long as Dreadwing's alive, we're both in danger anyway. The best way to keep each other safe is by making sure Dreadwing can't hurt us. And . . . the most logical thing to do . . ."

Wheeljack felt a small laugh shake him at her carefully thought out reasoning. "Is to kill him," he finished her sentence. Primus, every day he spent with her made him more and more proud to be her guardian. "But what about Optimus?

"We're doing it to keep each other safe," she said immediately. "It's for my own protection. Revenge is just icing on the cake. Besides . . ." She paused, as if uncertain she wanted to say it, but then stated firmly, "Optimus doesn't have to know."

He chuckled just thinking about the grenade Optimus still didn't know Miko had. "All right," he said. "Next time Dreadwing comes our way he's gonna regret it, right?"

He heard her give a slight laugh. "You betcha . . . Considering we get out of this sand dune."

Wheeljack scoffed in irritation. "All right! We'll get outta here somehow . . ." Pressing the gas pedal down, Wheeljack felt his tires spin and slip on the sand, and he gritted his dentures audibly as he struggled to get them moving.

"Maybe it's like a rip tide!" Miko suddenly burst out an idea.

Wheeljack groaned. "Babe, do I LOOK like I go sideways?"

"Well you don't have to be such a jerk about it . . . It was just a suggestion."

"Good lot of help it did." The snarky remark was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He inwardly cursed himself feeling Miko stiffen.

"Well thanks a lot! Last time I help you!"

Wheeljack snorted as he carefully pressed the gas, nose of the car nudging the sand. "Right. Like you're helping. I'm the one doing all the work!"

"Ha!" He felt Miko kick her feet up on the dash, and his entire body hinged up in aggravation. She was doing that on purpose, just to bug him! "Fine, I'll help. Let me out, and I'll start digging."

Wheeljack felt his optics roll at her sarcastic response. He couldn't open his doors even if he WANTED to. "Right. Let me roll down the windows for you and let you drown in the sand. THAT'S a bright idea."

Shifting into reverse, Wheeljack felt himself slide backwards some. Hm, this might work . . . He shifted back to drive, going forward more than he had backwards. This might just work . . .

Miko scoffed with annoyance. "It was your idea," she snorted. "You were the one complaining about doing all the work. Suck it up if you won't let me help!"

"Primus, woman, shut up! I'm working here!" Shifting it back into reverse, he went backwards some more before shifting to drive and lying on the gas. The car lurched forward again, driving against the sand.

After some time of rocking back and forth with meager amounts of results for going forward, Miko spoke up. "Wheeljack . . . Just go backwards. You're moving a lot more that way than forward."

He inwardly groaned at this. He was GOING to get through this sand dune! Backing out the way he had come in was giving up, and he wasn't about to let a _sand dune_ get the best of him . . .

Driving forward and backwards, struggling to get the few inches forward he did, he heard Miko scowl. "Fine, have it your way . . ." Too stubborn to give in, Wheeljack continued this pointless endeavor for several long minutes.

Finally stopping for a breath, realizing that they had barely moved forward at all, Wheeljack groaned to himself. Great, just fragging great . . . Finally coming to grips with the fact that he had lost to a sand dune, Wheeljack shifted into reverse and gunned it as far as he could go.

Things proceeded much more nicely as he moved backwards more than forwards. The sand slowly shifted beneath his spinning wheels and he rocked back and forth until finally his rear bumper hit warm sun and they slid all the way out of the sand dune.

Wheeljack dilated his optics to accommodate the bright sun quickly while Miko shielded and squinted her eyes, cringing in the front seat. After several long moments of staring at the offending lump of earth he couldn't get through, Wheeljack shifted into drive again.

"Fragging sand dune."

Miko giggled like an imp all the way back to base.

"Sleepovers are ALWAYS fun. Only the first rule is: _you don't sleep._"

Ratchet scowled at Miko's proclamation. "That completely defeats the purpose of a sleepover! You came over—to SLEEP!"

Miko laughed at Ratchet, hooking up her guitar to her amp. "C'mon, quit being an old fart!"

An incredulous look passed over Ratchet's face. "An old . . . _what?_"

Wheeljack laughed, elbowing the medic with a rakish grin. "She means that you're a rusty aft with a glitching processor that has better use for the scrap heap than anything else."

After several floundering seconds of struggling to speak, Ratchet looked down on the three humans and their three Autobot friends. Finally, he narrowed his optics and muttered, "I'm going to work in the back . . ."

Wheeljack snickered as Ratchet stomped off. Optimus was out patrolling, opting out of their no doubt crazy shenanigans for the night. Three sleeping bags were rolled out at the base of Ratchet's computers that were probably not going to get a lot of use tonight. Raf had brought a Xbox360 that both boys were hooking up for a major Dance Dance Revolution dance off. Bumblebee hovered behind them to watch and participate without a pad, leaving Arcee to supervise. Wheeljack arched an eyebrow at Miko.

"So, what am I doing?"

Raf looked up, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Wait a minute!" he said suddenly. Clearly a bright idea had overcome the boy, and he snagged his computer, while searching around the base for some parts it looked like. Wheeljack pulled a face and looked to Miko for explanation.

She shrugged with disinterest. "Don't look at me. Raf just went into "nerd mode." I have no idea what he's doing."

She immediately struck up her favorite song, and Wheeljack couldn't help but cringe before trying to tune it out. Raf hurried back to his computer with several parts in hand, hooking them up and typing rapidly.

"If I can hook these to the Xbox and transfer the information through the computer . . ." After a couple minutes, a grin broke through his serious face. "Jack!" he hollered above Miko's music. "Turn it on! Pick a level!"

Jack arched an eyebrow but did as instructed. To Wheeljack's amazement, the two things Raf had hooked up to his computer projected an image as the DDR level started up. Bumblebee cooed in amazement, a series of boops and whoops emitting from him.

*Raf! That's so cool!*

Raf grinned as he enlarged the projection screens to Autobot size, a mimic of the Dance Dance Revolution step pads. Bumblebee laughed, experimenting with Raf's jerry rig, tapping the arrows as they showed up on the screen. When he began to gain points, he cheered.

*Yeah! Go Raf!*

Wheeljack grinned rakishly. "Jack, restart that level! I'm gonna sweep the floor with this bug!"

*In your dreams, Wheeljack!*

Raf laughed, pleased as the stage restarted. "It's on easy this time, but we'll up the level while we go!"

Wheeljack's blue optics fixated on the screen. "Easy? Ha! I'm an expert! You'll be begging for mercy by the time I'm done with you!"

Launching into the game as it started, Wheeljack yawned with boredom for extra effect as he tapped the arrows with his feet, following the simple instructions to a tee with Bumblebee. When each ended with a perfect 100% right, Jack and Raf hollered praises, whistling for the two contestants.

"That was just on easy," Jack said with a grin. "Let's set it to a NORMAL level, and then we'll see what you two can do. I'll have you know," he continued loftily, "I'm on an expert level."

Raf smiled shyly. "I can only do it on hard."

Wheeljack bellowed with laughter, Miko oblivious to them as she jammed on her guitar. "Is that so, Jack? You telling me you've got some moves?"

"Some pretty _slick_ moves too," Jack needled him. Wheeljack grinned at the challenge Jack presented.

"_You're on, short stuff._"

Still, while Bumblebee breezed through Normal with Wheeljack, when they picked another level and upped it to hard, Wheeljack . . . didn't do so hot.

Bumblebee laughed, looking at his score of 94% hit. Wheeljack's optics narrowed at the screen, judging it for mocking him so.

Jack cleared his throat. "Don't take it too hard, Wheeljack," and he began to snicker, "78% is pretty good."

Wheeljack scowled furious. "Ah, shut up! Let's see what YOU can do then!"

Miko silenced her strings for a moment to wink at Wheeljack. "Sorry, Jackie. I guess not everyone can be born with smooth moves. You looked like a chicken with its head cut off running after its own leg."

"And I don't need lip from you either!" he barked, ignoring her laughing. The loss stung after he had gloated so much.

Jack grinned up at Bumblebee. "Think you can take on expert with me?"

Bumblebee agreed enthusiastically and Wheeljack watched rather sulkily as the two tore up the board. Jack ended with a whopping 91% while Bumblebee lost with an 85% but it didn't deter the Autobot. Bumblebee was determined.

They took turns, Bumblebee and Jack while Wheeljack was stuck with Raf—but he couldn't say anything because periodically Raf would beat him on hard. Wheeljack began to hate his two left feet and quite often proclaimed that he was made for war, not ridiculous dancing.

When Wheeljack managed to lose again to Raf for the umpteenth time, Miko laughed while putting away her guitar. "C'mon, guys, let's take a break! Some hot-head bot needs to simmer down!"

They all had another good laugh at the expense of Wheeljack's pride, and Miko shouted, "All right! Truth or Dare! Get in a circle!"

Jack rolled his eyes but did as ordered, and when Arcee failed to respond, Miko pointed at her and curled her finger. "C'mon, you too, stick in the mud! Let's go!"

When they finally all settled in a circle, it was decided that the turns would go clockwise to Miko—so it would be her, then Raf, Arcee, Jack, Bumblebee, and then Wheeljack.

Miko stood with high authority. "Since you Autobots don't know the rules, I'll tell you! Number one: if you decide truth over dare, you must tell the truth, nothing but the truth, and the full truth! Number two: if you choose dare over truth, you must do your dare! If you don't you suffer the humiliation of being a complete pansy in front of everyone! Number three: no asking the same dare or truth twice, and now, we begin!"

Wheeljack suddenly, at the last second, decided he didn't like the game. It was mostly because of Miko's particularly evil look as the surveyed her victims eagerly, and he could honestly say he was relieved when her gaze fixated on Raf.

"You," she purred. "Truth, or DARE?"

Raf's eyes widened. He gulped. "T-Truth."

Miko groaned loudly, plopping back down on her butt. "Aw, Raf! You took all the fun out of that!" She grunted. "Fine. Look, I'll even take it easy on you. My question is this: did you ever eat dog food as a child?"

He made a surprised face. "No."

Miko's jaw popped. "No? B-But—I thought all kids did that!"

Jack laughed loudly at her, winking. "I sure didn't. I think you're all alone there, Miko."

Her face turned a brilliant shade of red before she plopped down on her butt and crossed her arms. "Your turn, Raf," she muttered, her game backfiring on herself already.

Raf laughed lightly before looking around at everyone. "Bumblebee!" he chose, as it was expected. "Truth or dare?"

Bumblebee thought over it for a second before making his response. Miko elbowed Raf. "What did he say?"

Raf smiled. "He chose dare!"

Miko gave a loud whoop. "Yeah! Go Bee! C'mon, Raf, think of something horrible for him to do!"

The human's brows pinched as he struggled to think of something but ended up conceding, "I—I don't know, really . . ."

Miko groaned. "Come ON! Just—have him dance around the room like a chicken and make chicken noises or something!"

Raf brightened at the idea, looking at Bumblebee. "All right, Bee, do what she said! I dare you!"

Bumblebee leapt to his feet, proclaiming, *Challenge accepted!* Wheeljack was bewildered when the young Autobot began to do as asked, loud chicken noises squawking from his vocals as he put his hands up at his pits, fanning his elbows like wings. He even waved the wings on his back for good measure. The whole ridiculous sight had everyone rolling with laughter until Bumblebee came back to his seat, looking proud of himself for not giving in even if it meant making a fool of himself.

Miko grinned. "All right, Arcee, you're turn!"

Arcee looked a little less than amused that she had to, but she looked at Wheeljack. "Truth or dare?"

Thinking about Arcee, he shrugged nonchalantly. "Truth. That is, if you can wheedle something embarrassing from me." He chuckled. "Like eating dog food."

"Shut up!"

Miko's outburst had Wheeljack laughing, and Arcee frowned. Finally, she muttered, "Whatever. How many times have you blown yourself up while trying to fix something?"

Wheeljack snorted. "More times than I can count. C'mon! You made that too easy."

Jack grinned, looking up at Arcee since it was his turn. "All right, Arcee, truth or dare?"

She pursed her lips. "Truth," she said flatly.

Jack chuckled before thinking hard. "If Megatron had both me and Optimus captured, who would you save?"

A shocked look crossed her face before her features hardened again. "You, of course," she scoffed. "Optimus wouldn't allow it otherwise."

Jack groaned. "Aw, man! I should have seen her pulling it like that!"

Bumblebee looked around their circle intently before narrowing his optics at Miko. *Truth or dare?*

She didn't need an explanation for that, and she pursed her lips. "Dare," she said without any preamble.

Bumblebee tapped his chin thoughtfully, searching for something to properly humiliate the girl before bursting, *Sing the Barbie Girl song at the top of your lungs and strike pretty poses!*

Once she had got it translated, Miko frowned but declared, "Ha! That's easy! _I'm a Barbie girl! In a Barbie world! Life in plastic! It's fantastic . . . !_"

Wheeljack couldn't stop his bellows of laughter as he watched Miko utterly make a fool of herself while giving cheesy smiles and striking a multitude of poses. When she finally finished, she blew a raspberry at Bumblebee and sat triumphantly down.

As his turn finally came around, Wheeljack looked around at all those in the room, wondering who he should make his victim. A wicked grin split his face.

"Arcee!" he cajoled. "Truth or DARE?"

She narrowed her optics in extreme suspicion, and finally spat, "Truth."

Wheeljack grinned. "You're going to regret that. Now tell me, have you been fragged before and by who?"

A spurt of heat colored Arcee's face. "Wheeljack!" she roared. "There are kids in the room!"

Wheeljack laughed devilishly, taking great delight in needling the serious warrior. "Miko's rules didn't include what I couldn't ask," he said with a shrug.

Miko nodded. "That's right, Arcee, you have to answer the question."

Arcee's jaw clamped tight as she glared daggers at the lofty Wheeljack. "He asked two questions," she finally gritted through her dentures.

"Fine," Wheeljack said with a wave of his hand. "Then who's fragged you before?"

She stared furiously a moment more before jerking to her feet. "This is stupid," she snapped. "I can't believe you all are so childish."

"Just answer the question, Arcee," Jack said. He smiled cheekily. "What? Are you scared?"

Her hands clenched. After several long moments of complete silence, she finally muttered, "Tailgate."

Wheeljack gave a laugh, slapping his hands together. "Good mech! I remember him. Thanks for being a good sport, Arcee."

She scowled and refused to say anything more.

"My turn!" Miko proclaimed, jumping to her feet as the second round started. She narrowed her eyes with a glint in them at Jack. "All right, sucker, truth or dare?"

He arched a brow. "Dare," he said fearlessly back.

A wicked grin warped Miko's features. "This is my revenge on you for believing that ridiculous thing Wheeljack said. I dare you . . ." She quirked an eyebrow and smiled smugly. "I dare you to kiss Arcee—on the LIPS."

His eyes popped wide. Arcee hotly declared that was against the rules and Jack cringed, peeking up nervously at his guardian. She crossed her arms and gave him the look of the devil.

"If you try it, you'll regret it."

Jack's jaw opened and closed before Miko cajoled, "Oh? Jack, are you too scared? Are you a wuss?"

Heat filled Jack's cheeks before he muttered, "Fine. You win. I can't do it."

Miko laughed in triumph, taking it in with full glory, snubbing it in Jack's face, and Wheeljack's energon tanks began to curdle.

_Frag it to pit._

She was out for revenge with this game! Suddenly, Wheeljack had a sudden urge to drop out, but he wasn't scared of anything—not even what Miko could dish out. He pressed his lips together, struggling to contain a shiver of fear. This should be exciting come next round.

After Raf had Bumblebee demonstrate the death scenes from Romeo and Juliet—a riot in itself seeing Bumblebee playing multiple parts—Arcee's turn came around again. Her blue optics leered at Wheeljack as she growled, "Truth or dare?"

He lounged back comfortably, sure he could take anything she would dish out. "Dare," he drawled out for her.

She set her jaw, fiery eyes fixated on Wheeljack. "I'll take it easy since there's kids here," she muttered. Arcee smiled thinly as she looked at Wheeljack. "Instead, I'll pick on your pride. I dare you to sing _I Feel Pretty_ and dance around the room like the girl in the video did."

Wheeljack shook his head and clicked his tongue, inwardly howling but refusing to give an inch to Arcee. "You, dear soul, are cruel." Cracking his neck and looking up said song, he realized it was much worse than he had originally thought. Miko cheered him on until he took a breath and started.

"I feel pretty! Oh, so pretty!" He launched himself into a clumsy pirouette and tried to hit the right notes as he sang, "I feel pretty and witty and gay!"

When everybody collapsed into howling laughter, Wheeljack inwardly cursed the double meaning of the word gay and continued on, barreling through this challenge while Arcee sat smugly on. "And I pity any girl who isn't me today!"

Continuing on, ignoring Arcee's cheeky little smile, Wheeljack bravely endured. "I feel stunning! And entrancing! Feel like running and dancing for joy!" Running as the lady did in the video and doing a couple klutzy kicks, he spread both arms out wide, inwardly rolling his optics and hoping to Primus that no one had thought to video tape it. "For I'm loved," and he hugged himself, "by a pretty wonderful boy!"

_Primus, smite me this instant . . ._

He kept singing the song, cursing the dumb lady colorfully as he danced around the room like an idiot, Miko on her side with tears literally streaming down her cheeks. Well, he guessed that was one way to get her happy . . . but never again.

As Wheeljack took his seat again, Arcee taking great delight in his humiliation, he just shook his head and grinned—he had underestimated her evil ways. Jack just shook his head with a sigh.

"I don't know how I can top THAT," he said with a shake of his head, "but I'll try something more subtle. Raf, truth or dare?"

The boy hesitated until Miko elbowed him. "C'mon, Raf, don't be a stick in the mud like Arcee! I dare you to do a dare! C'mon, do it!"

Raf frowned. "Oh, all right . . . I pick dare."

Jack considered carefully, eyes roaming the room. Then, he grinned and pointed to the ground bridge controls. "I dare you to take off your underwear and hang them on the ground bridge controls until Ratchet asks about them tomorrow!"

A bright blush covered the small boy's face, and he stammered, "R-Really?"

Jack grinned. "Really. Don't worry—you can change somewhere where we can't see you." And he snickered to himself.

Raf gulped, looking up the ground bridge controls before shyly going off to hide and take off his underwear. Miko shouted with laughter when he came back with a pair of white briefs in his hand.

When he finally got them latched around the handle and came back to his seat, Bumblebee tinkled with laughter, nudging him and telling him he was brave—and not just to support him. They all knew Ratchet would hit the roof when he saw them there.

Bumblebee rocked as he looked around. *Jack! You haven't had anyone ask you much, so truth or dare!*

Jack wrinkled his nose, gauging Bumblebee's threat. "All right, dare!"

Stroking his chin thoughtfully for a while, Bumblebee's optics brightened. *I know! Switch ALL of your clothing with Miko for the rest of the night!*

When Raf translated, Jack's face shot up with heat. "Wh-What? Y-You can't be serious! Bee!"

Bumblebee laughed, winking. *Very serious! Come on!*

Miko poked out her tongue, both humans giving each other deadly looks with their eyes. "C'mon, sissy," she sneered. "Let's GO."

His jaw clenched tightly before he gritted out, "Fine."

Wheeljack chuckled to himself as he watched them go. "That means underwear too!" he clarified for them on a shout. "Bee said ALL the clothing switches!"

"Shut up!" he heard two voices chorus in a shout as they disappeared.

Wheeljack laughed inwardly as his audio receptors barely caught their muffled fighting and angry jibes as they switched clothing. Miko's, "No, that goes on like this!" caught everyone's ears and had people giggling. Finally, FINALLY, Miko came out first dressed like Jack, pigtails down for once, longer pants and sleeves rolled up, his bigger sneakers on her feet.

She plopped down rather disgruntled—Wheeljack laughed so hard to himself wondering how they had managed underwear without looking at each other—and then Miko grinned, tossing her head.

"Oh _Jaaaaaack_! You can come _ouuuuuuuuut!_"

After several beats of silence, Jack finally snapped, "Bee, I officially hate you," before he came out to where they could see.

Wheeljack freely laughed at his disgruntled expression, taking in the pigtails with great interest. All the way down to the leggings, short shorts and the tank, Jack was wearing every inch of Miko's clothing. As he sullenly sat down, the brunt of their amusement, Wheeljack waggled his eyebrows at the small human.

"How does her underwear fit you?"

Jack chose not to respond, but Miko jumped in cheerfully, "I even happened to wear my see-through pink and lacy—"

"Miko, shut up!" Jack yelled, redder in the face than Wheeljack had seen any human before. He guffawed, and realized it was his turn to ask someone.

"All right, Bumblebee, truth or dare!"

*Dare!* Bumblebee shouted out immediately, enthralled with the game.

Wheeljack grinned. "Well, since poor Raf gets to go commando for the rest of the game, I dare you to stick in nothing but your birthday suit for the rest of the game!"

Bumblebee hesitated with a thoughtful whir, but Arcee jumped on Wheeljack like a hawk to mouse. "_Wheeljack!_" she snapped angrily, "we're playing with KIDS!"

Wheeljack waved a nonchalant hand. "We're not even the same race, Arcee! It's not going to bother them, it going to bother YOU. Why else did you think I was daring him for?" At her infuriated face, Wheeljack hollered with laughter, slapping his knee. "Well, Bumblebee? You going to do it?"

After a moment more of uncertainty, Bumblebee's optics lit up. *Of course! I'm not a coward!* He began to strip of his armor much to Arcee's carangid, and the femme pointedly looked away while Miko stared in shock.

"Seriously? I didn't know you guys could do that!" As Bumblebee became clad in nothing but his protoform, Miko waltzed up for a better look. "You look so weird now, Bee." Pushing up Jack's sleeve on her arm again, she poked Bumblebee's softer protoform. "You guys' way of naked is weird. Buuuuut—" and she skipped back to her place with a wicked grin, "it's my turn!" She turned hateful eyes on Wheeljack. "Now. Truth, or dare?"

Wheeljack narrowed his optics. So, here it came. "Dare," he said, letting her know through his eyes that he knew what she was up to. He could handle it—whatever it was. Nothing could be much worse than what Arcee had done to him.

Miko's eyes glinted with the devil. "I dare you to take Ratchet's wrench, hit him on the head with it and scream, "Revenge!", and you can't try to run for ten seconds."

Wheeljack's jaw dropped. Everyone was wiped speechless at the horrible challenge, and Miko smirked in triumph.

"What's wrong? Too AFRIAD to do it? Is Wheeljack a pansy? Can't do it? Do I win?"

"No you don't!" he barked, too stubborn to lose to her. He stalked over and grabbed the wrench.

"Wheeljack," Arcee said with a warning in her voice. "You can't be serious. Ratchet will beat you to . . . well, I don't know, but I wouldn't mess with him!"

Wheeljack narrowed his optics at Miko when she crossed her arms like she owned the world. "Well, I've got to remind someone that she can't push me around, game or no," Wheeljack muttered. He stalked off, passel of messily-dressed (and undressed) pals following as he gripped the wrench so tight he was sure he would crush it.

He wasn't afraid of Miko, but by PRIMUS he was afraid of what doom he would meet in the back room with Ratchet.

When they found said medic in one of the back rooms, intently working on a piece of equipment, everyone gathered at the door, heads peeking in as Wheeljack steeled his nerves and strode in. Ratchet looked up in surprise when Wheeljack came in, snapping, "What do you want—?"

Before Ratchet could figure out what was going on, Wheeljack lifted the wrench high above his head and bellowed, "_REVENGE!_" and brought down his weapon with all his might.

Ratchet shouted when the wrench hit his head with a resounding _BANG!_ The sound was as loud as a gunshot, making everyone cringe at the loud sound. Wheeljack immediately began to count the ten seconds that held his life in his palm.

Miko suddenly felt a little bit guilty at the hellish glint in Ratchet's optics.

_"WHEELJACK YOU GLITCHING PIECE OF SLAG! I SHOULD HAVE YOU MELTED DOWN FOR SPARE PARTS!_" Before he could do anything, the wrench was yanked from Wheeljack's hand, and Ratchet wielded it with a might unparalleled. Wheeljack shouted, cowering as Ratchet vented his fury on him, hitting him repeatedly with his wrench.

"Revenge!" Ratchet roared, hitting the mech repeatedly for the dent in his helm. "I'll make you wish you had never touched my wrench, you glitched-up fragger!" Wheeljack cried out in pain as Wheeljack lambasted him with his wrench over and over, numerous dents making their place in his armor.

He heard Miko shrill shriek of, "_Run, Wheeljack, run!_" The ten seconds weren't even up yet, but it wasn't like he could get away anyway.

"Look at yourself, you irresponsible rust-bucket!" The wrench descended on the quailing Autobot with ferocity unparalleled. Ratchet losing his temper was possibly one of the most frightening things anyone had ever experienced. "How tall are you, Wheeljack? Twenty some feet? I never knew they stacked slag that high! Let me beat you down to size!" He hit him some more, Bumblebee fleeing with Raf before he got in trouble for being in his protoform, and Arcee hesitated with Jack in her hands, uncertain if she should help or even if she COULD help. "Ungrateful little slagger! I've had it up to here with you!" The hideous _bangs_ echoed out for a good while more, mixed in with Wheeljack's pained shouts until a final hit and, "Now get out of my sight before I get REALLY mad!"

Wheeljack bolted from the room, scooping up Miko quickly and dashing along, Arcee and Jack on their heels. As they ran back to the main silo, Wheeljack spat out a glob of energon and a tooth.

Miko covered her mouth with her hands in horror. "Wheeljack—Jackie, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"Nah, don't worry about it," Wheeljack said with a shrug, wincing when he felt a rather large welt. They slowed their run back down to a walk when they were nice and out of the Doctor of Doom's range. "He'd have to do more than that to ruin my day." He frowned to himself, muttering, "I'd hate to see him when he's REALLY mad . . ."

"You're such an idiot," Arcee snapped, blue optics flashing. "You knew Ratchet was going to do that."

Wheeljack merely grinned. "Please, don't tell me the look on his face when I hit him wasn't well worth it!" In remembrance of that expression, Wheeljack began to laugh heartily, ignoring the dents that didn't like it. As they made it back to the main room of the silo, the naked-jay-bird Bumblebee whirred in worry.

*Wow, Wheeljack . . . Are you okay?*

He shrugged again, sitting down back in their circle and putting Miko down. "Never better," he said, ignoring the fact that he hurt like the dickens. "I've had worse beatings from my Wrecking buddies. Besides, his face was more than enough to make up for it, but before we play a couple more rounds, I say we add one more rule: NO using Ratchet in your dare." He laughed, getting Miko and Bumblebee to giggle a little. Wheeljack waggled his eyebrows at Raf. "You're turn, little buddy."

Raf frowned. "Wheeljack, truth or dare?"

He waved his hands. "Truth. I think I might've had enough of my dares for tonight."

Raf pursed his lips. "Were you afraid of Ratchet when he started hitting you with his wrench?"

Wheeljack nodded with a sheepish grin. "Nearly leaked some transmission."

Raf nodded with big eyes. "I was too."

Wheeljack chuckled as they began to get back in the swing of things. Arcee frowned, looking at Miko. "Miko, truth or dare?"

She shrugged. "Dare," she drawled out as if it were obvious.

"Then I dare you to tell me why you picked that dare for Wheeljack."

Miko scowled suddenly, crossing her arms. "Not fair! That's indirectly a truth question!"

Arcee shrugged. "It's still a dare, so it counts. Now are you a wuss or not?"

Miko set her jaw stubbornly before finally saying, "Fine. It's because Wheeljack accused me of having a crush on Jack when it's not true."

Arcee made an unconvinced sound, and Miko's eyes flashed daggers. "Fine," Jack continued. "Miko, truth or dare?"

"Dare!" she declared hotly, evil eyes daring him to get on her bad side.

"I dare you to tell me truthfully if you have a crush on me."

Her jaw locked tight again. "I think we should have a rule against using dares for truths."

"It's not a rule," he repeated, "so I think it counts. Now come on, fess up! Tell it straight, Miko, do you have a crush on me?"

Her face ruddied up to almost tomato red she was so angry, and she finally spat, "No, no I don't."

"I'm not hearing much truth in that," Jack said with infuriating ease, lounging back in her clothing, untroubled by his comical look now that he had her on the ropes. "Tell it straight, Miko. Or do I win?"

Her brown eyes might as well have blazed red she was so infuriated. "Fine," she snapped. "I did, but you've successfully made me hate you beyond reasoning tonight! Happy?"

He just gave a slow grin, winking. "Course I am. Bee, your turn."

Bumblebee laughed. *Raf, truth or dare?*

Raf blushed, thinking of where the last dares had led them. "Truth."

*Okay, do you have a crush on Miko?*

His eyes popped. "No way! She's way too scary for me!"

Bumblebee and Wheeljack laughed at his answer, and Wheeljack thoughtfully looked at everyone in the circle. Deciding, to pit with it, he couldn't get in that much more trouble than he already was, asked, "Miko, truth or dare?"

She gritted her teeth, irritated that everyone was picking on her. "Dare!" she hollered hotly.

Wheeljack smiled slowly. "Well, considering the welts I have that Ratchet sure won't help me with . . . I think it's time for some payback. I dare you to kiss Jack for ten seconds."

Miko's jaw slacked open and, astonishingly, her face became even redder than before. That is, until it turned an ugly purple with rage, and Wheeljack quickly began to learn all the colors the human face could hold. "WHEELJACK!"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Unless you can't do it."

"I can do it!" she snapped, getting up and stalking over to where Jack was dressed in her clothes and she in his. She almost tripped on the longer pant legs, but dropped down in front of Jack. "Start timing now," she snarled and kissed Jack roughly before he could say no.

His eyes popped as everyone began chanting the seconds. "_One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four . . . Five . . ."_

Amused at the sudden turn of events, Jack suddenly leaned forward into the kiss. Miko squeaked in shock, jerked away, and slapped him full across the face again.

"What the heck!"

Wheeljack hollered with laughter. "Miko, that was only seven seconds! You failed the dare, unless you want to try again?"

"Jack, what the heck was that!" She tried to attack him again, but this time the boy was ready and caught her wrists, struggling to contain her anger as he laughed.

"Hey, he said kiss for ten seconds! I was trying to enjoy it instead of making it seem like a death march—"

"Just shut up and do it right!" Miko snapped. "Ten seconds and if you move I'll hit you so hard you'll get a whopping paycheck from the Tooth Fairy!"

Jack just laughed as Miko told them to start timing again. He had just enough time to mutter, "I'd do it a lot differently if I did it right . . ." before Miko forcibly kissed him, hands balled in threatening fists.

Wheeljack watched in amusement at the stiff kiss Miko gave him before the ten seconds were up. The second they were, she jerked away and glared at Wheeljack all the way to her seat.

"Wheeljack, truth or dare?"

Oh pit, he had forgot it was her turn next. "Dare," he said, unwilling to act like a pansy in front of her.

Her eyes glinted. "I dare you to kiss Optimus—lips or cheek, your choice—when he comes back and tell him that you've been a foolish soldier and wish to rub his feet as repentance."

". . . Slag you to pit."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Lmao, well, if you got it through all of this fun, Wheeljack and Miko are officially out for revenge. You knew it was going to happen sometime.**

**Besides that, I can't pick the funniest part of this chapter. Enjoy this extra long chapter! :)**


	9. Enough

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, seriously . . . I WANT to have a slumber party with the Autobots!**

**And check out this AWESOME fan art MachinaeChild drew for me! Just remove the astriks (*)**

**http*:/*machinaechild.*deviantart.*com/*gallery/38490454#/d596g24**

* * *

><p>"<em>What<em> are these doing here?"

Miko woke groggily to Ratchet's bellowing voice, and then, she suddenly remembered the slumber party. Pushing out of her sleeping bag with a grin, she caught sight of Raf's puckered and red face, and she laughed at him. Ratchet whirled with the offending underwear pinched between his fingers, holding them far away from his body.

"Miko . . ."

She laughed freely. Snickering and pointing her finger to Raf, she said, "Ask him."

Ratchet looked down incredulously on the embarrassed Raf. The boy stepped barefoot out of his sleeping bag and sheepishly held out his hand.

"Um . . . Those are mine."

Bewildered, Ratchet let Raf have his underwear without any preamble. Then, he narrowed his optics at Miko.

"I so swear if I found it was you that put his under garments there . . ." He blinked slowly. "Wait . . . why are you dressed in Jack's clothes—?"

Miko squeaked, waving her hands. Jack's sleeves fell over her hands. "No! No way! It wasn't me, I swear, Ratch! Raf did it, I promise!"

Before Ratchet could question it any more, Bumblebee roused from one of the medical berths, Ratchet's tools in a disarray after a game of operation with said Autobot as the victim. Sitting up, his optics whirred and blinked slowly.

*Good morning?*

Ratchet took one look and nearly blew a gasket.

"_BUMBLEBEE!_" he roared, causing the young scout to jump guiltily to his feet. Unfortunately, he stepped on the edge of the bowl of leftover popcorn and its contents went sprawling all over the silo floor. "_Why are you in your protoform!?_"

A half second later, and Arcee's infuriated voice joined in the mix.

"WHEELJACK! I AM NOT YOUR PLUSHIE! LET GO!"

A loud _bang_ rocketed out into the room and Wheeljack shouted in anger and pain. Arcee darted from the medical area with a disgruntled expression while Wheeljack followed, feet stepping on a messy spray of popcorn that was crushed all over the silo floors—evidence of another mishap last night since you couldn't walk anywhere in the silo without stepping on the popcorn.

"What the frag is your problem!" Wheeljack snapped at her, rubbing a particularly sore spot on his head. "Crazy, glitched femme!"

Ratchet scowled, brandishing his wrench threateningly. Wheeljack cringed. "And I don't want to hear another peep out of you, Wheeljack! And—what happened to my tools!?"

"What is going on in here?"

Everyone froze at Optimus's commanding voice. Said Autobot leader let his optics take in the disastrous silo with one detailed sweep.

Raf quickly hid a pair of underwear behind his back with a beet red complexion, and Bumblebee had frozen on hands and knees with a guilty servo on one of his pieces of armor that were scattered in no apparent order around the silo. Miko was wearing Jack's clothes while Jack was zipped up to his chin in his own sleeping bag, hair pinned up in Miko's style. Wheeljack was covered in a multitude of telling dents while Ratchet held a wrench so tightly that Optimus suspected that Wheeljack had become victim to it. Arcee just scowled, crossed her arms, and looked at the floor.

Optimus felt a brow arch slightly. Speaking of the floor, there was an overturned bowl that had clearly spilled some popcorn, but the bowl itself wasn't nearly enough to hold enough popcorn to literally coat the floor in crushed pieces from one end to the other. Empty soda cans popped up here and there, two of the multitude leaking. The medical area was a wreck, Ratchet's instruments of healing strewn. The kids' small living area with the TV had two gaming consoles out, hooked up and not, wires everywhere with controllers and a myriad of games tossed about. Raf's computer was still hooked up to the gaming system, projecting the title screen of the latest game, Modern Warfare. A couple movies were tossed in with the mix. Paint had spilled near Ratchet's computers, and each human had paint on their faces too. The victim of the paint disaster was Bumblebee's colorful armor pieces scattered about the room. Much more worrisome, a broken contraption leaned against the wall, still smoking a little.

Optimus put his hands on his hips while Wheeljack and Miko argued in undertones. "Would someone care to explain?"

A loud groan broke the silence. Wheeljack stalked up to the leader, and before Optimus could properly inquire what had happened, Wheeljack grabbed his chest, stood up on his toes, and kissed his cheek.

Optimus couldn't help but let a startled sound slip from his lips. His hands leapt between them and he staggered back a step in pure shock as Wheeljack pleaded, "I've been a foolish soldier, Optimus. Please, allow me to rub your feet in repentance!"

There was a beat of absolute silence where Optimus blinked with super wide optics, hands splayed as if to ward off Wheeljack before Miko burst out howling with laughter.

"Oh my God! I can't believe you really did it!"

Wheeljack rolled his optics, grumbling back to his feet as he tried to ignore Optimus. Again, the great Prime repeated himself, albeit, a bit more unsure of himself than before.

"What is going on?"

Ratchet threw up his hands. "Don't ask me, ask the delinquents, all six of them!" The medic marched over to his medical area, muttering the whole way.

Miko, gasping in laughter, grinned up at Optimus. "We had a slumber party, remember?"

He blinked. "I did not believe a slumber party would have . . . this much of an effect on the base." He bent down, picking up part of Bumblebee's thigh plating that had an orange MacDonald's icon on it, and beneath the icon, purple paint scribble that said _"This is my sexy thigh" _and he briefly wondered who had written it. The poor scout tiptoed over sheepishly, plucking the part from his leader's hand.

Miko just laughed, rolling up Jack's sleeves again. She winked smugly at the boy trapped beneath the safety of his sleeping bag. "We had a blast, Optimus, you should have been here! We rocked all night long!" Miko pumped her fists with index and pinky fingers held high giving a whoop.

Wheeljack chuckled. "Yeah, but what got us in trouble was the Truth or Dare game. Did you know Miko's ate dog food before?"

Miko laughed as Bumblebee hurried to fetch his armor. "Yeah, and Bumblebee was dared to go naked! Raf had to put his underwear on the ground bridge controls. Me and Jack had to switch clothes cause he took the dare—" and she suddenly snickered, "and that's why he won't come out of his sleeping bag."

A grin split the Wrecker's face. "Yeah, but Miko here got to kiss Jack—twice no less!"

A sudden spurt of pink coloring washed through Miko's cheeks. "Wheeljack!" she shouted. "Stop making fun of me!"

He gave her a languid smile. "Well hey, I was the one Ratchet almost beat to death."

"Because of that stupid stunt you pulled!" the medic barked as he cleaned up his equipment, carefully inspecting for any damage.

Wheeljack grinned again, waving a nonchalant hand at the worried pinch of Optimus's brow. "Don't worry. You were the last dare there was—sorry about that."

Miko just laughed, leaning up against Wheeljack's foot. "C'mon, Jackie, that was pure gold! Oh, man! Optimus, if you could have seen your own face—!"

She collapsed into giggles again, much to Wheeljack's bemusement. Wheeljack shrugged nonchalantly at the mess. "The kids brought popcorn but no microwave to cook it, so I improvised and tried to build one for them—but I just ended up blowing up three bags of popcorn and the microwave." A sheepish look crossed his face as he gestured to the remains in the corner.

"Oh, it was AWESOME!" Miko exploded. She laughed again. "You should have SEEN it! The popcorn was everywhere, it was like snowing popcorn inside!" She grinned up at Wheeljack before bursting, "And we watched scary movies with burned popcorn and played Modern Warfare with all the idiots online. Ha! They couldn't for the life of them figure out why they could never win with Wheeljack and Bumblebee playing! We even painted all of Bumblebee's armor!" Miko gasped, whirling around. "Bee! Where's the target codpiece?" Bumblebee shyly held up the yellow codpiece where she could see with a big red target painted over it, and she gave a loud whoop. Then she ran back to Jack.

"Come on, Jack! Get up! I want my clothes back!"

Wheeljack chuckled as Jack gritted his teeth and got up. He jabbed a finger to Bumblebee. "Poor kid got all his parts painted just for the heck of it—he's gonna be a mess when he gets himself back together. We even played a game of operation on Bumblebee since he was already butt naked." He cupped his hands to his mouth, hollering, "Don't worry, Doc! We didn't break anything!"

"Yes, but I'm confining ALL of you to base for clean up!"

A chorus of "_But Ratchet!_" preceded Wheeljack whirling on Optimus and asking, "He can't really authorize that, can he?"

Optimus's optics merely swept over the disastrous silo before his lips twitched. "I second Ratchet's command," he said, much to the carangid of all the delinquents in the room. "You will ALL help clean up the base," he ordered. He patted Wheeljack's shoulder as he passed and shocked the Wrecker with his next cheeky words.

"Consider it thanks for the kiss."

* * *

><p>Miko grinned, flopping back in Wheeljack's passenger side seat. "Clean up sucked, but I'll never forget exploding popcorn."<p>

Wheeljack chuckled, driving her back home so she could finally get something to eat. Wheeljack had protested the whole time that the kids needed to refuel, but sparkless Ratchet had deemed that if they were going to die of hunger they could eat the burned popcorn off the floor.

"When you get home, eat something and come back out. We'll go scrounging around this town for some fun." He chuckled. "Maybe we'll meet your friends from school and really teach them a lesson."

Miko laughed at the thought of her "friends" getting another piece of Wheeljack. "You're horrible at keeping a low profile," she commented airily.

Wheeljack chuckled. "Not that I can now that I'm the only sleek sports car on the road that looks like it drove through a trash compactor."

After several moments of silence of which Wheeljack stopped before a red light, Miko wrinkled her nose. "I can't believe Ratchet banned us from having any more sleepovers. I mean—that was uncalled for! We cleaned up, didn't we?"

Wheeljack laughed wryly, turning off the main road and into Miko's neighborhood. "Well, I honestly think the stunt with the wrench and the underwear ticked him off more than he wanted." Wheeljack paused. "And playing with his tools."

"And the popcorn," Miko added offhandedly.

Wheeljack parked in front of her driveway, chuckling to himself at the thought of his failed experiment. "And Bumblebee in his protoform. Come to think of it, probably everything."

Miko grinned. "Ratchet just needs to relax. He can't have fun even if fun fell right in his lap!"

Wheeljack gave a bark of laughter. "I think the bot just needs to get laid." He twitched his rearview mirror to get a better look at Miko.

Miko got out with a devilish look in her eyes. "Which was worse?" she asked him. She reached behind the seat to grab her guitar. "Ratchet's beating, or Optimus's lecture?"

"The lecture by far!" Wheeljack burst out. "No doubt about it! At least Ratchet finished up quickly—I bet we sat there for an hour! Shoulda timed the ol' Prime . . ."

Miko winked. "All right, I'll go eat and tune my strings a little, and then we'll be outta here!"

Wheeljack chuckled to himself and relaxed on his back wheels as Miko disappeared inside the house. Still, before Wheeljack could get too comfortable and let his mind drift, the door to the house opened back up.

Wheeljack stared rather dumbly when a woman exited the house. White, short brown hair, and green eyes, a little chunky around the waist, and Miko on her heels. Miko was gesturing wildly, and it suddenly occurred to Wheeljack—

Host parent.

Miko wasn't old enough to drive.

Utilizing his hologram before the woman could see that there was no one in the front seat, Wheeljack uncertainly opened the door, stepping from the driver's side. A confrontation with one of her host parents couldn't hurt . . . right?

Her mother's brows pinched. "So you're the one Miko's been hanging out with," she said strictly, looking at Wheeljack critically.

Wheeljack looked down on himself, a hologram that reflected his true self, and he could have cursed himself. For one, the explosion stains and burns all over his clothing didn't bode well, and he was a formidable person to look at—muscled all over and scars decorating him, cold blue eyes, and a mop of messy black hair. And, to a human, he was in the prime of his years, and could probably pass for twenty-five at youngest.

Feeling a bit unsure of himself for once, Wheeljack came around the car, keeping careful and casual touch to the hood of the car with his fingers. It was respectable to face her mother head on, but how was he supposed to handle her?

Said mother's eyebrows pinched, and she held out her hand. "My name is Mrs. Davis. And you are?"

"Uh . . ." Wheeljack quickly added oil stains to his hands, partially lying with, "Jack. Jack Anderson. Miko calls me Jackie." He held up a hand, giving his excuse for not touching her. "Was just working on the car, ma'am. I wouldn't want to get oil all over you."

Mrs. Davis put away her hand, nodding as if satisfied. "I see. Well, I usually allow Miko a rather free leash, but . . ." Miko looked like she was about to die behind her, staring with pleading eyes at Wheeljack. Instead, her fears were for naught as her mother merely said, "Since you're driving her around so much, I want to be sure you're a good driver." She smiled at his apparent uncertainty. "I won't be too hard on you."

"Um—Y-yeah, sure thing, ma'am." Reaching over and opening the door for her, a bemused expression crossed her face at his chivalrous action. She looked back to Miko with a smile, as if wondering if she was doing the right thing as her stand-in for a mother. "We'll be back soon, Miko. By the time you're done eating and ready to go, we'll be back. All right?"

Miko pulled a worried face but muttered, "All right . . ." She sent Wheeljack a look, and he just shrugged helplessly and closed the door behind her mom. As Miko went back in the house, Wheeljack went around to the driver's seat, sitting inside with a human he wasn't sure meant him no harm yet . . . figuratively speaking.

"Uh, where to, ma'am?"

Mrs. Davis merely smiled as they buckled up. "Just drive us around the town for a bit."

"Uh, yes ma'am."

As he pulled forward, he felt a prickle of uncertainty crawl over his arms. What the heck? He knew how to drive! Just because her host mom was grading him didn't mean anything! He'd been driving for longer than she was alive, for millennia!

But that didn't mean he was so nervous he almost forgot to put on his blinker.

Mrs. Davis sighed. "I should have known she would find someone like yourself as a friend, just as rough around the edges as she is." She tapped her finger on the arm rest of the door. "So, you've been working on your car? Is it running well?"

Wheeljack nodded a bit stiffly, on edge around her host parent. "Yeah, he drives like a charm."

Mrs. Davis nodded. "I see. It's a beautiful vehicle. I suppose you're going to work on getting those dents out next."

She arched a brow in question, and Wheeljack couldn't stop the way his lips twisted up. "Yeah, those've got to go . . ."

Mrs. Davis smiled, and Wheeljack turned onto the more busy roads, gliding his way into traffic. "So, Mr. Anderson, what do you do for a living?"

A living? Trashed Decepticons. "I, ah, I'm a scientist." That was perfect. He smiled a bit sheepishly. "I also like to try to invent things . . . the last one ended up blowing on me, so sorry if I stink of smoke and oil. I worked all night before realizing I had promised to pick Miko up this morning."

Her host mother laughed. "Yes, she seemed like she enjoyed herself." Mrs. Davis paused. "Mr. Anderson, how old are you?"

Oops—"Twenty five," he said, the first approximate coming to his mind. Mrs. Davis shifted in her seat, scrutinizing him closely as they approached a red light.

"Mr. Anderson, I must ask, is your relationship with Miko purely platonic?"

He frowned as he slowed. "What?"

"Mr. Anderson, I'm making sure you're not a pedophile."

Wheeljack felt his eyes pop, and he hit the brakes a bit harder than he meant to as they jerked to a stop. "A—A WHAT?" He couldn't help his flabbergasted expression at her, jaw gaping open a little. "I would never—She hasn't had a run-in with one of those disgusting humans, has she?" Dear Primus, if she had, he'd rip their tiny, squishy body to pieces!

Mrs. Davis seemed a bit taken aback at his aggressive response, and she laughed a little nervously. "I'm sorry, I just had to be sure . . . And no, don't worry, she hasn't."

Wheeljack leaned back in the seat, swallowing hard and pushing out a hard breath of air. "Well . . . good."

As he cautiously pulled out with a green light, he turned them back towards the house, figuring he'd gone far enough. Mrs. Davis stayed quiet for a bit longer than usual before saying, "You're really passionate about her, aren't you?"

Wheeljack paused. She didn't say it as an accusation . . . Instead, he decided to come clean for once, muttering, "Yeah . . . It might seem a bit silly, but I love her like she was my little girl."

"You have a daughter?"

Wheeljack shook his head, keeping his driving steady even though his spark beat erratically. "No . . . But if I did have one, I'd want her to be like Miko."

Silence overruled the car for a good while after that, leaving Wheeljack to drive in silence. Mrs. Davis continued to drum her fingers a bit nervously on the arm rest of the door before finally asking, "How did you meet Miko?"

Unconsciously, Wheeljack felt his throat bob. "Um, well, she . . . We were at the KO Burger, and there were some girls picking on her. So I ran them off. Ever since we've just kinda . . . stuck."

Mrs. Davis sighed, clearly knowing of the girls who picked on Miko but was unable to do anything about it. "Well, for that, I thank you. Miko's a bit eccentric, and I'm afraid she gets teased a lot . . ."

"It's pure bullying, ma'am."

Mrs. Davis sighed again, twiddling her thumbs. "Yes, I know . . . I just feel bad that I can't do anything about it. It honestly makes me feel better knowing you're here to protect her."

That lump around his throat was growing. "Y-yeah," he mumbled. "Don't you worry. She's safe with me, I promise."

As they pulled back into the subdivision, Mrs. Davis didn't say anything until he pulled to a stop in front of the house. Before she got out, however, she stated, "Mr. Anderson . . . I know you're lying to me."

Wheeljack couldn't help the way he started. "I—What?"

A wry smile twisted her lips. "You're one of them, aren't you?"

He blinked wide. "What?"

Before he could stop her, she reached over and her hand passed through his hologram. Wheeljack froze, but Mrs. Davis merely took a deep breath to steel her heart that had started to race some.

_Optimus is going to kill me for breaking cover . . ._

Mrs. Davis sighed, shaking her head. "Miko takes lots of pictures of you all. She left in a hurry one day and left her scrapbook wide open." Wheeljack stared in shock at the woman who was reacting rather calmly and who controlled her emotions. "I didn't know what to think when I saw the robots . . . but she looked happy. And I guess that was enough for me since I can't really click with her."

Wheeljack blinked wide-eyed at her. "How long have you known?" he finally stammered out.

Mrs. Davis gave a small smile. "A few months now." She twiddled her thumbs some more. "I haven't told my husband. I think he would overreact, honestly, and he doesn't need any more stress with his work."

"Uh . . . work?"

"He's a business man," she explained easily. "He's not at home often. He's on an extended trip right now."

"O-Oh . . ."

Wheeljack felt himself stupidly wiped of all words as Mrs. Davis looked out to where Miko came barreling out of the house. "What happened to her other friend? The green one? He doesn't come around anymore."

Wheeljack turned his face away, throat tightening. "He, ah . . . he . . . I'm afraid he isn't with us anymore," he finally squeezed out. He felt his grip clench on the wheel, and his hologram leaned back into the seat, muscles looking like they were hinged up for the attack.

"Oh . . . So he was your friend too. I'm sorry to hear about that . . ."

Wheeljack nodded stiffly, and instead of the hologram, he felt her lay her hand on the dashboard. "Are you all right?"

His hologram looked up to the ceiling of the car, jaw twitching. "It's been a month . . ." he whispered before he could stop himself. Primus, it was Sunday—four weeks ago Bulkhead had died. He groaned to himself, leaning his head against the wheel. "Primus, it was my fault . . ."

He felt the hologram shimmer again when she tried to touch his arm. Mrs. Davis turned to where Miko was waiting impatiently and held up a finger for her to wait. She turned back to Wheeljack's hologram, saying softly, "Your fault?"

He flinched like she had attacked him. His voice gritted with anger. "Mrs. Davis, my troubles are not yours," he said tightly.

She hesitated a moment, wavering before saying, "I know, but . . . I think it would probably be best if you went ahead and vented. I can tell you haven't done so for anyone, and it's unhealthy to keep it bottled up. Besides," and her gaze softened, "I highly doubt you're going to tell Miko. You want to be strong for her, right?"

Wheeljack's hologram looked up with wide eyes at how quickly she had picked him apart. His mouth worked a moment before he scowled and looked away from her uncannily probing eyes. Primus, he had known she was dangerous . . .

But he opened his mouth anyways.

"There's another bot, Dreadwing . . . he killed my friend Seaspray, and I couldn't do a thing to save him. Primus, I nearly died in the same explosion! I tracked Dreadwing back here to Earth, and . . . Pit, I'm such an idiot . . . I went after him again for revenge, but Bulkhead ended up getting captured . . . When we found him, he was strapped to a bomb, and . . ."

Wheeljack felt his gears hinge up. "I couldn't diffuse it," he hissed out, trembling in self-loathing. "He died, because I didn't know enough!" He shook his head vigorously, turning his face away from her so that she couldn't see his tears.

"You shouldn't take it so hard," she said quietly. He tensed. "You did your absolute best to help your friends—"

"Well my best wasn't good enough!" he snapped, glaring at her with glinting blue eyes. She winced back a moment before he turned away, fists clenching. "Primus, first I wasn't good enough for Seaspray," he muttered under his breath, "and now I'm not good enough for Bulkhead either . . . He almost killed me and Miko with one bomb . . . Dreadwing's beaten me . . . I'll never be good enough to take that 'Con down . . . I'm a fragging failure . . ."

He felt her cool hand rest comfortingly on his dashboard again. For a human that was just now interacting with Cybertronians for the first time, she sure picked up quickly how to soothe them. "Take a deep breath," she murmured, interrupting his desolate mutterings. "You said he ALMOST killed you and Miko. But he didn't."

"Not on account of me," he hissed. "I was the one that got her captured in the first place! It was the other bots that had to rescue us."

"Listen to me," she interrupted gently again. Her thumb began to stroke over the dash, somehow soothing him more with the movement. Primus curse this fragging glitch to pit, how was she doing that? "You're not a failure. Do you know why? Because I see Miko happy with you. That's what she needed most."

Wheeljack clenched his jaw, moving his face away from Mrs. Davis when the tears threatened again. He struggled to rationalize the situation like she did.

"Besides that," she continued, "I trust you. You've kept her safe so far, so what's to say you can't keep her safe tomorrow? You're best can keep her safe and make her happy."

Wheeljack squeezed his eyes shut. "What if it's not enough?" he rasped.

Her hand tightened on his dash. "What if it IS enough?"

Wheeljack looked up then, stunned by her simple acclamation. She smiled. "Your thoughts are a double-edged sword, Mr. Anderson. You continue to cut yourself down and hurt yourself with them instead of thinking optimistically."

He stared at her in wonder. "How do you know?"

A wry smile touched her lips. "I happen to be a therapist."

A bark of a laugh left Wheeljack before he could stop it, and he shook his head with disbelief. Fooled by a human.

Mrs. Davis patted the dash comfortingly before admitting softly, "Thank you for being her friend, Mr. Anderson. She needs one."

Wheeljack's hologram swallowed again and nodded. Finally, he managed, "My name isn't really Jack Anderson. It's Wheeljack. Again, Miko calls me Jackie . . ."

Mrs. Davis smiled, and she finally unbuckled. "Then thank you, Wheeljack. And don't worry," and a grin glimmered through her features, "you passed your driver's test."

Wheeljack looked up dumbly when she said that, but she got out before he could form a response. Miko was shifting restlessly from foot to foot, guitar clenched tight in her hands.

"See? He's fine, right?"

Mrs. Davis smiled, looking back fondly on the car. "Yes, Mr. Anderson is just fine." Her expression softened as she looked at Miko, and she said, "Just have fun, Miko. All right?"

"Well . . . yeah, okay, sure . . ."

Miko quickly threw her stuff in the back and clambered in. She gave a quick wave to Mrs. Davis before Wheeljack pulled out. He kept the hologram on for looks purpose even though it didn't matter.

Miko let out a huge whoosh of a breath when they were out of range of the house. "Oh my GOSH that was too close! I hate it when she tries to get all motherly like that. She fell for it, didn't she?"

Wheeljack cracked a smile for Miko's sake. "Sure did. She doesn't suspect a thing." At least, that's what Miko could continue to think . . .

Wheeljack tuned out her music when she asked him to turn it up to jam. Mrs. Davis held such faith in him. He hadn't been able to protect anyone he cared about, and yet she trusted him to take care of Miko. His rearview mirror twitched as he looked back on Miko air guitaring in the front seat. His spark clenched. His best had never been enough.

_What if it IS enough?_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_  
><em>

**Trivia: I wanted to have Arcee scream out, "I AM NOT YOUR CUDDY-BUDDY!" but eventually had to sigh that it just wasn't her character. Wonder how THEY slept together? Lmao . . .**


	10. A New Kind Of Torture

**Author's Note:**_  
><em>

**Over 100 reviews! :D Thanks so much you guys and gals!**

**Okay, I'm taking two ideas people have said in reviews into consideration and writing them.**

**1: get Miko sick. ****Looking through the reviews, a guest calling themselves "lalaland" and another "nightfury97" suggested it. Your wish was my command!**

**2: talk about the Wreckers. ZephyrX9 was the one who suggested that, but it won't make an appearance until the next chapter. I'm still sorting a slew of Wreckers and wondering how to incorporate them all. XD**

**School starts next Tuesday. Unfortunately, updates WILL slow.**

**But have you guys seen it? I was on DA and saw a picture of Wheeljack and Miko! A TEASER photo! Check it out, the Hub on facebook let out a teaser photo! :D Remove the astriks, the little star thingys (*) THey's so BEAUTIFUL together! I nearly had a heart attack!**

**http*:/*/www.*facebook.*com/* ?fbid=402271403155281&set=a.155347071181050.33326.119249468124144&type=3&theater**

**Alas, Wheeljack . . . your torture starts NOW.**

* * *

><p><em>I got detention<em>

Monday afternoon and Wheeljack was on his way to pick up Miko when she sent him that text. He sent a data burst of the same frequency back to her.

_For how long?_

_An HOUR! Pick me up?_

Wheeljack frowned at the message.

_Whatd you do?_

Her message took longer, and he purposefully drove wide around the school as he stalled for time. Surely it wasn't that hard to keep from getting detention?

_Nothing_

Wheeljack chuckled to himself. That didn't sound too convincing.

_Fess up. Whatd you do?_

Her message stalled again.

_I shouted at a teacher_

Wheeljack paused. He frowned. That was it?

_Whatd you shout?_

This particular message took even longer than the ones before.

_I told her to frag off_

Wheeljack grumbled to himself. All right, here we go. We're getting somewhere.

_Why?_

This message was the longest yet. It was also a long text message to begin with, but he had a feeling she hadn't wanted to send it.

_Cause the teacher was mad I didnt do my homework and I told her I didnt feel like it and she asked why and I told her to frag off_

Wheeljack studied the message closely. After reading it over just to make sure he had read it right, he sent back:

_Why didnt you do your homework?_

He knew that the slumber party had been Saturday night, but Sunday she could have done it. He had a feeling he knew, and he found out he was right when she sent him her next text message.

_Bulkheads been dead a month_

Half a second later, another text hit him:

_A month and a day_

Wheeljack sighed to himself, turning down the way to the school.

_Howre you going to get out?_

He could almost hear her devious tone as she sent back:

_I have my ways_

Wheeljack chuckled to himself, parking in front of the school to wait for her. She didn't make him wait long. She tossed her bag and guitar in the back and hopped in with a grin.

"Let's go!" she shouted.

Wheeljack pulled out when she finally settled down and buckled up. Her spontaneous façade wasn't going to keep him out this time—he could see it in the shadow over her eyes, the pain she hid.

No need to beat around the bush. "So Miko. How're you holding up?"

She scowled, knowing he was talking about the text. "I don't want to talk about it. Can you play some Slash Monkey?"

He grunted as they waited at an intersection. "No, I think we need to talk about it."

She wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms, sitting sullenly in the seat. "What else is there to talk about?"

He kept quiet until the light turned green. "I don't know," he finally said. "But considering you're yelling at your teacher for even the slightest reminder of Bulkhead, clearly I haven't done a good job in helping you feel better."

Miko gave a defeated sigh, curling up in a ball. "Jackie," she said softly, "don't talk like that. It's not your fault."

"I never said it was," he corrected her as they drifted out to the interstate back to base. "I just feel like I should be able to . . . you know . . . take the pain away." When Miko was silent at that, Wheeljack gave a troubled sound. "What am I saying. I can't take away the pain of Bulkhead dying. That'd be like trying to erase him. I feel like I should be able to help you _cope_ with it better. You know . . . So you're not getting detention."

She cuddled into the seat, staring out the window. After a moment, she asked, "Will the pain ever go away?"

Wheeljack paused. Thinking about Seaspray, he felt his spark tighten. Primus he wanted to be truthful, but he didn't want to hurt her . . .

"I don't know," he finally said quietly. "It may never stop hurting, but . . . I think, if we've got each other, we can rough it out."

Suddenly, he felt some stress roll from her shoulders. She relaxed more in the seat, a soft smile playing with her lips. "Thanks Jackie."

He felt his spark swell until it wanted to burst and shower her with love. Miko let a small grin twist up her features. "NOW can you play some Slash Monkey?"

"You know, you ought to do something for me considering how many times I've let my audio receptors bleed for you . . ." he muttered suggestively.

As he turned up the music, he heard her snicker, "Well I AM helping you get these dents out today . . ."

"Touché."

* * *

><p>Getting dents out of Wheeljack was like pulling teeth.<p>

Only . . . worse.

After an afternoon full of Wheeljack cursing both at Miko and Arcee—who had been willing enough to help—he was mercifully dent free.

Though, Arcee seemed to have fun tormenting him every time a dent popped out and irritated his soft protoform.

But, if Wheeljack thought his woes stopped with Miko getting detention, he was wrong. OH SO wrong. He got a phone call that day from her cell during school hours.

"Miko?"

Looking up from the wing of the Jackhammer he was upgrading, Wheeljack heard her voice rasp in his ear, _"Jackie, I feel sick . . ."_

Wheeljack stood up straight in a spark beat, optics widening. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

_"I don't feel good . . . I blew chunks. Can you pick me up?"_

He all but dropped the torch he was holding. "I—But Miko, shouldn't you be calling your mom?"

_"Mom's in Tokyo,"_ she said with a faint laugh in her raw voice.

"W-Well, shouldn't you call your host parents?"

He heard her give a tired sigh. _"I don't want them, I want you."_

His spark melted. He was already shoving things away. "All right, Babe, I'll be there in . . . give me ten minutes. I'll be there. Okay?"

_"Okay . . . Thanks, Jackie."_

Wheeljack amazed himself at how quickly he could gun himself to the school. He was sure he had broken several speed laws on the way, but he honestly couldn't give a frag. Pulling up to the curb, he shot her a text that he was there in case she didn't see him, and then, she stepped out from the school.

Wheeljack felt himself sink on his suspension. She looked awful. Her backpack looked like it weighed a ton, and she lugged her guitar like she were carrying bricks. His spark groaned in compassion—if only that accursed hologram was of physical form so he could help her!

Instead, he could only watch helplessly as Miko hefted her things into the back seat and sat tiredly in his front seat. Wheeljack closed the door for her and buckled her up.

"My little trooper doesn't look like she's doing too good," Wheeljack said gruffly as he pulled out as smoothly as he could from the curb.

Even in her apparent distress, Miko managed a furious scowl. "I feel like crap," she groaned, letting her head loll tiredly against the seat.

Wheeljack grumbled quietly, performing a small scan on her. When he did, she immediately reported, "I'm running a 102.2 according to the nurse, I've thrown up my lunch, my throat feels like sandpaper, and my stomach is rolling. On top of that, I'm on my monthly and I've got terrible cramps, my hormones are way out of whack, so if I jump down your throat, I apologize in advance." She groaned again, leaning her forehead against the glass of the window. "Wheeljack, I'm hot. Turn on the air conditioning."

He did so immediately, duly noting that mood swings were a part of this "monthly" she had, and he briefly wondered how to combat her sickness. He'd never dealt with a sick human before. Not to mention that she was on her monthly so she was bound to be twice the hassle . . .

Miko grunted. "Gods, I'm so hungry . . ."

Wheeljack paused, stopping for a red light. "Well . . . Do you want something to eat?"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

"I'm hungry!" she exploded suddenly, dry throat cracking under the stress. "Of course I fragging want something to eat! But can I eat something? NO! Of course not! Not while I'm freaking throwing up everything I eat!" The instant she laid back in exhaustion, she slumped completely against the seat. "I'm tired, and I want to lay down. And I'm freezing. It sucks."

Wheeljack paused again. _What?_ "Do you want me to turn down the air conditioning?" He had just turned it on because she was hot!

She waved a tired hand, curling up in a painful ball. "No, it feels good . . . God, I hate riding in cars when I'm sick, the motion just makes it worse . . ."

Wheeljack sighed inwardly to himself, wondering just what the hell he had gotten himself in to. "Well, uh, you're house is closer than base."

She shook her head, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. "No, I don't wanna go home, I wanna be with you . . . Just don't let Ratchet the Hatchet get me . . ."

An overwhelmed laugh spilled from Wheeljack. "Sure thing, Babe. I won't let him touch you."

"Mmh . . ." After a moment of squirming in pain on his seat, Miko finally said, "I'm craving some chocolate . . . Real bad. Any chocolate. Chocolate bars, chocolate cupcakes, chocolate ice cream, chocolate on chocolate on chocolate . . ."

Wheeljack hesitated. "Well, um . . . Tell you what. Since you can't keep anything down yet, when Jack comes in from school, I'll have him bring you some chocolate. Deal?"

She perked up considerably with a little smile. "Yeah! That sounds SO great . . ."

Wheeljack just chuckled, taking in her rasping voice with critical thinking. Her throat was dry and raw. She needed something to drink. "Well, let's swing by KO Burger and get you a Sprite. You need something to drink."

She just nodded tiredly in agreement, and after some serious jumping through hoops to conceal that he was just a hologram AND taking the Sprite from the window man's hand, Miko was sipping on it, a hand constantly crossed over her stomach.

Wheeljack eyed Miko critically through his mirrors. Her normal sparking brown eyes were drained lethargically, and her moves were much more sluggish than they should be. After a minute she completely sat the Sprite down in the cup holder and simply rode in a ball, twitching and squirming with discomfort.

Wheeljack sighed to himself. Poor girl—

Miko suddenly lurched up, and before Wheeljack knew what was happening, she coughed violently before gagging and retching up slimy liquids and the last little chunks of whatever she had for lunch.

_OH MY PRIMUS, IT'S DISGUSTING! HOLY PRIMUS—OH MY PRIMUS—!_

When her episode finally passed, Miko looked up with teary eyes, wiping her mouth on her arm. "Oh, yuck—Jackie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"No, no, no," he interrupted her, inwardly squirming, "it's all right. You're sick."

But to no avail, she began to cry bucket of tears, the hormonal imbalance of her period setting her off. "It's all my fault!" she wailed pathetically, gushes of tears streaming down her cheeks. "I heaved all over your floor mats, I'm sorry, Jackie! It's so nasty—I'm sorry—I'm sorry—"

When she began to breathe in irregular breaths, Wheeljack tightened the seatbelt on her in some sort of a sympathetic hug. "It's all right, Babe, calm it down. You're sick, I understand. It's okay. Just stop crying . . ."

_Oh dear PRIMUS it's disgusting . . . Oh Primus, and it's oozing! Ugh, it's soaking into the floor—! Primus, I'm never going to get this smell out . . . Oh Primus . . . Oh my Primus, smite me now . . . !_

Still, his soothing words did the trick, and she slowly brought her sobbing down to guilty hiccups, feet hovering uncertainly over the mess before she scrunched up in a ball again. "I'm sorry, J-Jackie," she hiccupped, wiping her running nose and sniffing. "I didn't mean to . . ."

Dear Primus, this was like a nightmare . . . "It's all right," he soothed her again, his own tanks inwardly rolling as the smell of vomit permeated the cab. He rolled down each window a fraction to help air out, and as he looked down the stretch of road, he realized the base couldn't come quick enough for him. "Just take the drinking thing a bit slower next time, all right? You've got all the time in the world to get better, don't stress it."

Miko nodded pitifully. "O-Okay . . . I'll clean it up—"

"Don't you worry about it," he told her even though his spark was singing at the thought. "Maybe when you're better, but first thing we gotta do is make sure you're going to be okay. Right?"

She nodded again, sinking into his seat like a dead weight. "Okay . . ."

Wheeljack inwardly heaved a sigh of relief that he finally had her pacified for the moment. They finished the ride to the base in silence without any more mishaps—thank Primus—and Ratchet pinned him down with a suspicious look until he transformed up with Miko in his hand.

"Miko! Are you all right?"

The fire of irritation was back in an instant. "Does it LOOK like I'm all right!" she snapped, voice cracking again, and Ratchet had performed a scan even before she was done with her sentence.

Wheeljack shielded her from the medic when he burst that she was running a fever. "I know that, Doc," he grumbled, brushing past the worried medic. "I've got it under control."

Ratchet gave a scoff. "YOU have it under control? Then why are my sensors picking up the smell of human refuse all over you?"

Miko's lips quivered again, and her hands clenched tight on her Sprite. "It's my fault," she started to say again, but Wheeljack cut her off.

"Shut it, Babe, you're fine." He jabbed a finger at Ratchet angrily for making her remember what had happened. "You on the other hand can back it off. She can't help it that she's sick. And, I'm under strict orders to not let Ratchet the Hatchet get her. So back off."

Stalking past a sputtering Ratchet, Wheeljack laid Miko down on the couch. She shivered at the loss of contact with his hand and stated, "I'm cold."

He fished the blanket from the back of the couch and laid it over her. "Better?"

She wrinkled her nose and curled up in a ball again. "Kinda." She pulled the blanket up to her chin.

Wheeljack's worried optics blinked down on Miko. "Shouldn't you be taking some sort of medication for this?" he asked. He honestly was new at this and picking it up slowly. He fished her backpack and guitar out of his chest and was lucky none of the congealing vomit had gotten on them. He set them next to the couch in easy reach.

She frowned again. "Oh, yeah . . . Some type of antacid or something . . . My mom uses Pepto-Bismol but I hate that pink crap . . ."

Wheeljack returned her frown. "But, shouldn't you be taking it . . . ?"

Miko snorted before coughing. Her brows puckered. "Please. Sometimes I'd dump it down the sink instead of taking it and I'd still eventually get better. I hate medicine."

Dear Primus she was going to be a hassle . . .

When she made a particularly fierce face of pain, writhing on the couch, Wheeljack's optics widened in alarm. "Miko? Are you all right?"

"Cramps," she said airily, voice rasping with abuse. "Comes with the freaking periods."

Utilizing the internet in a heartbeat, Wheeljack sought out ways to relieve cramping. Rest, walking, abdominal massaging, yoga—_orgasmic sexual activity?_ Wheeljack shuddered immediately and skimmed the rest of the list. He didn't even have a heat pad to help her with.

"How about you walk some? Exercise is supposed to help."

Her face pinched pathetically. "I don't FEEL like walking . . ."

He wondered belatedly if he could make a heat pad for her without blowing it up. Honestly . . . HOW was he supposed to blow up a heat pad?

"Stay right here, Babe, I'll be right back."

She looked up with tired and angry eyes. "What? Where are you going?" she asked accusingly, abused voice dryer than the desert outside.

Wheeljack reared back—THAT he hadn't expected. "I was just—"

"Fine, whatever," she interrupted, scowling furiously. "Just GO then! I don't care! Leave me alone! Let me rot!"

A depression of air hissed from Wheeljack's vents. "Miko, I'm sorry. I'll stay—"

She waved her arms before curling back dejectedly under the blanket. "Oh, so NOW you're willing to stay? Jeez—just get out! Leave me alone! I don't care!"

After a pause of thought, Wheeljack just assumed it would be better to just let her stew—at least it would keep her off of him. He sighed. "Okay."

He turned to go, but not before he heard her rage, "_Okay?_ That's all he's got to say now! I'm having the worst day of my life and all he can do is say _okay!_ Doesn't even offer to be nice to me or comfort me . . ." To Wheeljack's utter carangid, he heard her start to cry again. He groaned on the inside, turning back to her.

"Miko, wait," he started to say. He reached out a finger to touch her and offer his comfort like she wanted, but she pushed him away.

"Well you know what? I don't WANT your sorrys!" she wailed, burying her face into the couch. "You can be sorry to the grave for all I care! You stupid, mean, jerkish robot! Just leave me alone if you're not going to help!"

Wheeljack hovered uncertainly, unwilling to leave her alone when she was so distressed, but Ratchet's amused voice echoed out, "She's PMSing, Wheeljack. You might as well leave her alone."

Wheeljack rolled his eyes and finally upped and left Miko. Dumb Hatchet was taking pleasure in his sufferings.

Instead, Wheeljack heaved a sigh in the back room as he fished around for the parts he needed. Dear Primus, if this happened EVERY time she got sick, she could have her mother suffer it, not him. Flattering that she wanted him and no one else, but Wheeljack wouldn't be able to handle it!

Working quickly on the simple contraption, Wheeljack sighed to himself again and texted Jack.

_I need a favor_

Surprisingly, Jack texted back immediately. Wheeljack frowned. Wasn't he in school? He texted in class? Thought he was the stiff, goody-two-shoes . . .

_What is it?_

Wheeljack went over the list of what he needed in his head, considering every angle of Miko's sickness—and period.

_Mikos sick. Come by after school and bring some chocolate flavored popsicles, ginger ale or ginger tea, Ibuprofen, Pepto Bismol, soup, and a blanket_

Wheeljack pieced together the small heat pad diligently. This could work—if it didn't explode.

_Thats a big list. She needs all of that?_

_Unless you want to explain to her why she doesnt have it while shes on her period. Shes ripping heads off today. Ill tell her its your fault_

_Jeez! No need to threaten! Ill get it!_

He chuckled at the indignant tone the text message induced. Even better news came when Wheeljack had the heat pad thrown together in a manner of minutes. And, oddly, it worked perfectly this time. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief—at least he wasn't blowing up stuff today.

Making his way back to the main silo area, he prayed to Primus Miko would be in a better mood when he got there. Clutching the tiny heat pad in his fingers, Wheeljack peeked into the silo.

Miko had heard his heavy footsteps of course, and the instant he looked out Miko was staring square at his face. Instead of harping at him for hiding from her, he was more pleasantly surprised when she reached an arm over the couch towards him with a small smile.

"Jackie!"

He nearly groaned to himself. She was in a much better mood now, but for how long? Instead, he came up to her and held up the small contraption. "Here you go. Homemade heat pad number one."

Ratchet whirled as Miko took the heat pad with a delighted squeal. "Wait just a minute!" he growled, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Have you tested it? I don't need you blowing Miko up! I wouldn't know where to BEGIN to explain to Optimus . . ."

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Chill, Doc. It's not gonna blow."

Miko even cheekily poked her tongue out at the worried Autobot. "Yeah. You act like everything he touches explodes!" She laughed and stuck the small pad beneath the blanket, turning it on, and she gave a small moan.

"Christ, Wheeljack, you're God's gift to earth . . ."

Yeah, well, five minutes ago he was a stupid, mean, and jerkish robot. He sighed to himself. He'd never be able to get through this.

"Hey Miko, you been drinking?"

She wrinkled her nose then. "No. Considering last time I puked it up all over you."

Wheeljack shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I need you drinking though. Can't have you getting dehydrated. Right?"

Miko's lips quivered a moment. Wheeljack silently began to pray to the gods above again that she didn't start crying again . . . "But I don't want it," she said pitifully. "What if I throw up again?"

Wheeljack rested his hands on the railing. "Well, tell you what. If you throw up again, I'll let you throw up all over Ratchet. Deal?"

Her eyes sparked then. "Deal."

It took the medical officer a moment longer to realize what they were saying.

"OH NO YOU DON'T—_WHEELJACK!_"


	11. Chocolate Popsicles

**Author's Note:**

**I'm a busy bee now. Lucky to have at LEAST some sort of free time to myself. Ugh.**

**Anyways, check out this awesome-sauced fan art that I received in an art trade! Remove the astricks thingys (*)**

**http*:/*/thescarred*.deviantart.*com/*art/Request- Whatayamacholit-321394128**

* * *

><p>Wheeljack felt his spark lurch when Miko leaned over the trash can he had found, dry heaving and trying to throw up something she didn't have. When she was done, she flopped back down on the couch with a pitiful moan.<p>

"Jackie . . ."

An aggrieved hiss vented from his body. Pressing the cool metal of his finger to her forehead, she squirmed away from the contact before relaxing, closing her eyes. It didn't counter the fact that the wetness had sparked in her eyes again, but it helped hide it.

"I know, Babe, I know . . ." By _Primus _her skin was burning! His spark clenched in painful worry, and he growled helplessly a moment, metal hinging up. He grumbled angrily to himself. "I knew I should have taken you to your mother . . ."

She frowned, leaning up slightly into his finger. "But I want you . . ."

Wheeljack felt his jaw grind in irritation. "Miko, I'm not good enough to get you healthy again. You need a human who knows what she's doing."

"NO," Miko groaned pathetically again, a hand reaching up to grip at his finger. "Please, Jackie, I want to stay with you . . ."

He growled in irritation, passing hand over his face. "All right. But if you don't hold it down this time, I WILL take you back home. Got it?"

She nodded, but didn't look happy. Her slightly trembling hand reached over for the flat and watery Sprite and she took a tiny sip.

Surprisingly, she kept it down with aplomb.

Wheeljack grunted to himself. Must've been his threat to take her home . . .

It was a little later when she took another sip, and then, she groaned. "Jackie . . ."

"What is it?"

A weak but furious scowl managed to cross her features. "I need to go to the bathroom."

He nodded. "I'll help you get there."

He was a bit surprised to see her lurch over and grab her backpack. Stumped at what she could want, Wheeljack watched her fish around sluggishly for a minute before pulling up a small pink bag. When it got stuck on something, she merely got irritated and yanked harder, but it caused the zipper on the small skull bag to open and things to come pouring out.

In fed up anger, Miko gave a raw shout and threw the bag down. "Freaking mother—fragging—frack of Megatron's afterburner!" Tears of irritation sparked in her eyes.

Her choice of explicatives amused him, but Wheeljack merely touched her reassuringly. "I've got it, Babe, don't you worry." Picking up an assortment of panty liners, pads, and tampons, Wheeljack fitted them all back in the bag, and he even found the offending hand sanitizer that had slid a bit farther than the others. Zipping it back up, Wheeljack felt his optics soften as he looked down on his intensely sick charge. "You ready?"

She scowled again, crossing her arms. "Why the frig not? I'll just end up bleeding through my pants . . ."

Wrinkling his nose from too much information, Wheeljack slipped his fingers as gently as he could around her, lifting her tiny and weak body from the couch. Secretly, as the heat pad and blanket slipped from around her, he was happy to get her away from the heat. She shivered immediately, but he could feel her skin as hot as fire, and it made him sick with worry.

Letting her down at the door where the humans had found the old bathroom in the abandoned missile silo, he watched her stagger inside and shut the door. His gut twisted. If she didn't get better soon . . .

After a rather lengthy time in the bathroom, Miko came out and Wheeljack scooped her up again, moving lethargically slow to help keep from upsetting her stomach any more than it already was. However, Wheeljack was pleasantly surprised when he came back into the main room of the silo to see Arcee—Jack!

Said teenager was already at the couch and coffee table, pulling things out of his backpack. Wheeljack gave him a grateful grin as he set Miko back down on the couch. "Jack, I've never been so happy to see you in my life."

Miko perked up some at the mere smell that wafted through the area. "Oh my gosh, Jack, is that soup?"

He grinned. "Yeah, but I'm under strict orders of my mom. Can't let you have it yet—you'd probably just throw it back up."

Miko's little bubble of happiness was popped. "Yeah, don't remind me . . ." She slunk back down into the cushions, but while she put the heat pad back on, she let the blanket pillow about her ankles. Wheeljack nodded to himself—good. She needed to cool off.

Miko wrinkled her nose when Jack began to pour some type of medicine. "What's that?" she asked suspiciously, voice gritting raw.

Jack grinned again. "Your medicine. Mom gives it to me for this kind of stuff."

She frowned and turned away. "I don't want it."

"Well too bad. You've got to take it."

Miko scowled then, glaring through slitted eyes. "Oh yeah? You can't make me." She poked her tongue out petulantly. "I'm not taking ANYTHING you give me!"

Wheeljack frowned at her. "Miko, you've got to take your medicine. Want me to give you back to your host parents?"

She looked up with big eyes. "N-No . . ."

Wheeljack nodded. "Then take it. No need to be stubborn."

She wrinkled her nose at Jack, and said teenager looked very smug as he squatted by the couch with the small measuring cup. "C'mon, Miko," he said with a grin. He reached over and brought a pack of chocolate popsicles into sight. He wagged them in front of her wide eyes. "I'll give you a popsicle if you take it."

She sneered furiously then, and Wheeljack noted with some amusement that she acted like she was getting better. Must be the competition with Jack . . . Whatever that competition was. "I'm not a kid!" she snapped at him, raspy voice cracking a little. "And if it's coming from you, I don't want it, you pretentious prick!"

Jack arched an amused brow as he opened up the box. "Whoa, Miko. Pretentious? Sounds like someone's actually been paying attention in English class!"

Heat shot to her cheeks when he pulled out a chocolate flavored popsicle. "I learn the words just to use them on you," she defended herself angrily. "You just laugh when I call you an ass-wipe, so I figured something like magniloquent imbecile would work better."

"Language," Wheeljack mechanically reminded her.

Jack's brows pinched at her words, and he opened the chocolate popsicle. Her eyes snapped to the treat just beyond her reach. "Well, if this querulous juvenile wants her popsicle, she's going to have to take her medicine. Or should I eat it instead?"

She narrowed her eyes to angry slits. "You wouldn't dare."

He gave a careless shrug and held out the medicine again. "Well, I don't know," he drawled out, infuriating Miko further. "It sounds pretty good to me. I mean, a _chocolate popsicle_," and he waved it under her nose. She grabbed at it, but he merely pulled it out of her reach again. "If you don't want it, I'll eat it."

Miko glared at him, silently daring him to eat her popsicle while she was on her period and craving the chocolate, but Jack just took her bluff with a wink. Putting the tip of his tongue to the base of the popsicle, he licked it from base to tip.

Furious heat filled her cheeks until Wheeljack was sure she would explode. "Give me that!" she snarled. She yanked the medicine from his hand so ferociously that she nearly spilled it, and she downed the liquid in one gulp with a grimace. She then proceeded to snatch the popsicle from Jack's grip and clamp her mouth over it possessively. She retreated as deep as she could into the couch and glared at him with daggers, sucking on the popsicle in sullen triumph.

Jack smirked but picked up the tiny cup she had thrown at him and put it away. "I guess someone's already feeling a lot better," he said snarkily.

Miko just growled at him and then ignored him.

Wheeljack felt a lip twitch as he watched Miko work on her chocolate popsicle. Well, in fact, JACK'S popsicle. Did she realize that she was eating it after he had licked it? Technically, that was what they called a "second-hand" kiss . . . Wheeljack chuckled, causing Miko to glare up accusingly.

"What're you laughing at?"

He shook his head, not daring to pick on her now. "I'll tell you later," he said with a wave of his hand. Looking around, he noticed their missing companion. "Where's Raf and Bumblebee?"

Jack grinned as he pulled out a blanket and tossed it at Miko. She shrieked angrily when it fell over her head. "He and Bumblebee opted to stay away when they heard she was on her period. I think they're afraid of her."

"And you better be too!" Miko snapped before throwing the blanket back at him. Jack just laughed to her carangid though—besides, her hurting voice had merely cracked at the end of her threat and ruined the effect.

Arcee, watching it all with some degree of amusement, arched a brow. "Hey, just be glad I'm not a human. At least _I_ don't have a period."

Wheeljack burst out laughing at the thought. "Oh Primus! Arcee, if you had a period, we'd just set you on Megatron and we would have won the war years ago!" He bellowed with laughter, making even Jack grin at Arcee's indignation.

"Just think, 'C," he said, eyes crinkling with laugh lines, "You could have had Megatron running with his tail between his legs!" Jack laughed too, and Arcee decided to leave them all, muttering the whole way down the hall.

Miko yawned before proceeding to lick up her popsicle languidly, humming to herself at the taste of chocolate she had been craving. "Wheeljack?" she called up to him while Jack set a portable coffee mug filled with ginger tea next to her—and also a ginger ale, which he opened. She was about to snap at him not to drink it when he pulled out a Coke for himself. She looked up at her guardian's worried blue optics. "You said you and Bulkhead were part of a Wrecking team, right?"

The question surprised him. Yes, he had mentioned it, but . . . Honestly, he hadn't been expecting her to inquire about it. Finally, he got his articulators to work again.

"Well, uh—yeah. Yeah, we were. Why?"

She gave a nonchalant shrug, difficult in her slumped position, but manageable. "I want to know," she husked and then proceeded to clear her throat. "How many of you guys were there? Names? Designations?"

The sudden interest was like a slap in the face. He felt his vocals tightening up. Primus, he hadn't talked about the Wrecking team with really anyone but . . . Bulkhead. "Well, ah," he finally started to say, "there were twelve of us in all, including myself. I . . . don't know how many of us are still alive. I know Impactor, Pyro, Rotorstorm, Roadbuster, and Seaspray . . . and Bulkhead, are all dust." He scowled, clenching his hands and turning his face away. "Primus, that's half of us right there."

There was a pause. "Can you tell me about them?" Wheeljack looked up at her, but Miko looked away when he tried to look her in the eye. She quickly licked her chocolate popsicle to keep it from melting all over her fingers. "I mean, if you want to."

Sighing, Wheeljack turned toward her. "Yeah, sure. The rest of 'em are Ultra Magnus, Springer, Topspin, Whirl, and Twin Twist. I have no idea if they're still alive. What're you wanting to know about them?"

Miko shrugged. "I don't know. Just tell me about them. Do they have nicknames like you and Bulkhead did?"

Wheeljack swallowed, trying to loosen his articulators. Primus, she talked about Bulkhead with more ease than he did. Miko licked untroubled over her popsicle, and it was then Wheeljack realized he had an audience in Jack too who was sitting crisscross on the floor. Clearing his throat, Wheeljack finally pried his glossia unstuck from his mouth.

"Well, um, our leader was Ultra Magnus." He gave a slight laugh. "We couldn't rightly give him a nickname. It'd be like trying to call Optimus "Op" or some such mess. Sometimes we called him "Mags" but never in front of him!"

Miko smiled, lying back comfortably on the couch. "Okay, what about the rest of them?"

Wheeljack shook his head. "Oh man, we were a mess. We called Seaspray "Barnacle Butt" cause that ol' Wrecker loved being in anything liquid. His alt mode was like a transport hovercraft, and he loved the water. Anything he could swim in, he was in there! He fought best there, and honestly, he was more at home in waters than on actual land. I bet he despised any time he was on land."

Miko snickered, the sound a bit congested. "Right. A fish outta water."

Wheeljack chuckled too, the memory of him bittersweet. "He could be a pranking idiot though. I still remember when he tried to go swimming in molten lava." Wheeljack snorted, crossing his arms. "Glitching rust-bucket. He was a basket case when we pulled him out. It served him right, jumping in that lava."

Miko laughed again, shaking her head. "He sounds fun, I dunno what you're talking about."

His lips twitched up a moment. "Yeah . . . Primus, he would have loved Earth. This planet has the most water of any others I've been on." He shook his head, spark clenching. "He would have been fascinated . . . and all the weird animals LIVING in the ocean—slag, he would have been in hog-heaven . . ."

"What about, um, what's his face . . . ugh, oh well. Ultra Magnus? What was he like? Like Optimus?"

Wheeljack's lips slanted up. She was trying to distract him from the pain. Touched by her sincerity, Wheeljack moved on, saying, "Ultra Magnus was just as reserved as Optimus, but . . . mh, yeah, I guess they're sorta alike." Putting his hands on his hips, Wheeljack frowned, cocking his head. "Mags was a peculiar sort of guy. He never really liked giving orders—he'd rather be the one GETTING the orders. He liked to act like he was just a soldier, but he made one hell of a commander. He always knew what to do, how to handle any situation." Wheeljack smirked suddenly. "Courageous and self-sacrificing—that's how he was like Optimus. But while Optimus's spark is clearly all about this leadership thing, Ultra Magnus didn't have his spark in it. He'd have gladly just have been a soldier and nothing more."

Miko popped the popsicle from her mouth loudly, licking her lips with a tongue that was dying equally brown from the chocolate flavor. "Well, that tin can wasn't too bright in the head was he? So he was practically MADE for leadership and he didn't want to do it?" She snorted. "Somebody should have kicked him up the aft and set him straight."

Wheeljack couldn't help but bellow with laughter at Miko's crude thoughts of Ultra Magnus. He grinned down at her, resting his arms down. "Nah, if you met him, you'd like him—but you'd tell him to relax all the time. He's not much for partying—ANOTHER thing he's got in common with Prime. Workaholic."

Miko shrugged. "Hey, if you've got a stick up your—well, your butt, you've got a stick up your butt. Someone's gotta pull it out one day for you to enjoy yourself." Wheeljack chuckled again. Pushing herself upright in the seat, she asked, "Okay, tell me about someone else. I've went and forgot all of their names again."

"Impactor," Wheeljack said. He let a thoughtful sound grumble through his systems. "Well, actually . . . We nicknamed him Pit's Slag."

Miko all but choked on her popsicle. "Hell's Shit?" she asked back, coughing deeply.

Wheeljack frowned. "Now hey! You're not supposed to be saying it!"

After coughing a moment more, she waved a hand. "You said it first," she accused with a rasp. "Why the heck would you call him that?"

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Cause his mouth was dirty as slag and was mean enough to make the pit shake. He HATED superiors and made it clear. He'd cuss them out, Miko, he would have pushed even OPTIMUS to his limits. This guy was a dime a dozen, and he made it known. Mean as a snake he could be, and the cussing didn't help." Wheeljack suddenly gave a barking laugh. "Guess that's why the superiors eventually put ol' Mags in charge."

Miko laughed, the sound scratching from her throat that was still getting over its abuse from before. "Tell me about someone else!"

"Springer," Wheeljack said next. A grin cracked his face. "We always told him with a name like that, we didn't have to give him a nickname! If I'd've known about Earth's "Tigger" you betcha I would have started calling him that!" Miko sniggled, and Wheeljack was empowered to continue, "This kid thought he had all the tricks and plays under his belt. A cocky fragger with those dead-pan sarcastic quips just to lighten the moment. Good kid, confident, cheery, and has a wicked swing. He's actually a triple changer—besides his bipedal mode, he also had a flight and a land mode. Sick, huh? Wish I had been equipped with triple changing techniques."

Miko's little jaw popped. "You mean there's some of you that have three modes?"

Wheeljack nodded. "Yeah, but only Springer was a triple changer. Now, we DID have two Jumpstarters, Topspin and Twin Twist."

"What's a Jumpstarter?" Miko cut in quickly. She cleared her throat again, and threw her popsicle stick at Jack. The boy snapped at her, but she ignored him and picked up her tea to start sipping. Good! She was keeping that popsicle down! Now, if she could just KEEP it down . . . The tea would help her sore throat, too, but a big yawn gave her away as tired.

"A Jumpstarter is a Cybertronian that can transform twice as fast as us lug-nuts. Just takes them an instant and," he snapped his fingers, "bang! They're done. Most useful on the field of battle. Now, if you thought Impactor was mean, nah, he was more bark than bite. TWIN TWIST was mean as a snake, and was more bite than bark. Called him Unicron's Baby. He was ready to get his drills into ANYTHING that moved, and Ultra Magnus was always concerned about his bloodlust that rivaled Decepticons." Wheeljack shrugged. "Me? I didn't care. He got the job done."

Miko snickered, and Wheeljack merely smiled at her with a twinkle in his blue optics. "His brother Topspin, our weirdo medic, was more into fighting nature than Decepticons. Called him Rusty Aft after he tried to take on some acid rain, Rusty for short." Wheeljack snorted, shaking his head. "Crazy idiot. He was lucky he didn't get his circuits fried."

Sipping her tea, Miko smiled. "Yeah, he sounds like the kind of idiot I'd hang around."

Wheeljack grinned at her. "Yeah, well if you want a miniature Optimus Prime, just look to Pyro. He acted just like him—self-sacrificing, brave, steadfast, on the front lines—only he did it with half the success that Optimus does. I can't tell you how many times that fool was tattered beyond measure trying to protect us all." He rolled his optics. "Called him Prim in mock of the name Prime that he acted like." Wheeljack frowned suddenly, looking down on the two humans. "Don't you tell Optimus we mocked the Prime name."

"My lips are sealed," Miko rasped immediately, making a locking gesture on her lips before taking another sip of the ginger tea. Jack just nodded his agreement, zipping his lips.

"Rotorstorm was a mean slagger too," Wheeljack said, watching idly as Miko finally set the tea down, curling back down comfortable on the couch. Ah, the drugs were taking effect. She was going to be out like a light in no time. "Ruthless, powerful, and he dug in deep right to the very end. Brilliant strategies. Hard to hit him, and could listen in on Decepticon communications—VERY useful trick. Called him CPU cause he had the personality of one. Man that guy was no fun at all."

Miko snickered softly. "He just needed a dose of me, that's all. He'd've perked up then."

Wheeljack smiled at her. "Yeah, I bet. Roadbuster we called Tank. Just simple Tank cause of his alt mode, but also because this fragger was armored to the teeth. He looked mean, and was mean on the battlefield. He was a powerful and charismatic fighter, but for how he lit up in the war zone, he didn't know what to do with himself when he wasn't fighting." Wheeljack frowned again, thinking about the mech. He put his hands on his hips. "He always got a little withdrawn or depressed—definitely the quietest of us all—but he sure knew how to inspire people on the battlefield. I guess I was probably the closest one to him—after all, he was my favorite sparring partner."

Wheeljack frowned to himself. Yeah, memories still hurt. He fixated his gaze on Miko who was struggling to keep her eyes open. A pucker marred her brow.

"Wait . . . I thought there were twelve of you guys? I counted you and Bulkhead . . . isn't that only eleven?"

He nodded. "Yeah, last is ol' Time Bomb. Whirl. You ever heard that saying, _sometimes crazy works?_" When Miko shook her head tiredly, Wheeljack chuckled to himself and picked up one of her blankets, spreading it over her. "Yeah, well this guy was the epitome of that phrase. This idiot WAS like a ticking time bomb, doing the craziest things on the battlefield. Sometimes he'd get hurt, but he didn't care. He just LOVED the job so much. Adrenaline junkie. You two would have gotten along magnificently."

Miko laughed minutely, almost muffled by the weight of her own sleep pulling her down. Wheeljack's gaze softened when she mumbled, "Okay, so now that I've heard who they all are . . . Tell me some stories? You and Bulkhead always had the greatest stories . . ."

Wheeljack chuckled quietly, rubbing the top of her head tenderly. "I doubt you could stay awake for any," he murmured.

The way her face struggled to scowl was precious. "I can too stay awake . . ."

Shaking his head, Wheeljack said, "Well, I'll tell you how Whirl got the nickname Time Bomb. We were on Tarn during the Great War, one of Tarn's smaller outposts, but the Decepticons were swarming all over us, like buzzards over the carrion. Bulkhead, Whirl, and I were all stuck with our backs against the wall, relying on Pyro and Rotorstorm to get their lazy afts over to us—still don't know what in pit took them so long . . ." He shook his head in dismay at the memory, continuing, "Well, before our reinforcements caught up with us, Whirl got the big idea to catch a grenade. Pit, he didn't know what kind it was, it could have been an impact grenade for all he knew, but the glitching tin can went and KICKED the thing up to the ceiling right when I was jumping up for a strike on one of the 'Cons." A small smile played at Wheeljack's lips seeing that Miko had already fallen asleep.

"Well," he quietly told her sleeping form, "it wouldn't have been so bad. The grenade was going to fly right by me, but it was a timer bomb, and it exploded before it could fly all the way up. So, instead of bringing the roof down on us like some half-witted lug nut, that time bomb exploded right next to me. Nearly took my head off!

"And that," he summarized quickly with a small grin, "is when I started calling Whirl _Time Bomb_."


	12. Battle of Darkmount Pass

**Author's Note:**

**IMPORTANT! READ THIS!**

**A friend of my mine *cough youknowwhoyouare cough* got some plot bunnies attacking me, and now I MIGHT have a change of plans for the story . . . well, not a change, but a sudden diversion that's got my mind percolating. ^^ So my question to my wonderful watchers is this:**

**Would you totally hate me if there was an interface or two added to the story? And if not, what KIND of interface is your favorite to read?**

**I won't get into all the dirty nasty details . . . it'll be more of an abstract thing with hot details here and there, but nothing HEAVILY smut. The focal point of the story WILL still be Jackie and Miko, but these plot bunnies have nagged and refused to be ignored . . .**

**So, interfacing or no, and what kind if yes?**

**Also, this chapter is a gift for being early! I busted my butt so I could get it posted in honor of the upcoming "Hurt" episode! :D So excited!**

**(and just in case you don't remember, Prim=Pyro)**

* * *

><p>"Jack! Get me something to eat!"<p>

Miko's hoarse yell woke Wheeljack out of his stasis. Optics blinking as they came back online, Wheeljack stood straight from his position leaned against the wall, and he moved his aching gears in a movement similar to a human stretch. Only, he was a bit surprised to see Miko early morning throwing her blanket on top of Jack's face that had fallen asleep on the coffee table.

_He stayed all night with her?_

Grudgingly, Wheeljack let his respect for the human grow.

Jack wrestled the blanket from his head, glowering at Miko with groggy morning gunk stuck in his eyes. "I might consider if you asked nicely," he grumbled and rubbed his eyes.

"Fine. Then PLEASE get me something to eat so I don't starve!"

Jack scowled, running his hands a couple times through his hair so that it wasn't quite the haystack. Wheeljack watched with amusement as he said, "Maybe if you didn't yell?"

Miko rolled her eyes and groaned, fed up already. "Please Jack? I'm starving!"

He shook his head. "Guess that's as nice as it'll get . . . What do you want?"

"A platter of sausage and scrambled eggs, twenty-nine biscuits, a plate of hash browns and pancakes smothered in syrup, lots of gravy and a ton of bacon. But since I can't eat that much, I guess I'll settle for a hash brown from the KO Burger."

Jack yawned before trotting down the steps. "Okay. Sprite?"

"Yup."

"Okay. I'll be right back. Arcee?"

Wheeljack waved Jack off when he looked around for his guardian. "I'll get her," Wheeljack offered just as he heard a ring in his central processor.

Huh?

Touching his audio receptor to accept the call, he said a bit more dubiously than he should, "Um, hello?"

_ "Hello, is this . . . Mr. Anderson?"_

His optics widened. Mrs. Davis! "Oh, yeah, this is Mr. Anderson. Calling about Miko?" Where in pit had she managed to get his number? He had to chalk it up to the theory that she was a mother and mothers had their wily ways.

_"Yes, actually, I was."_ She sounded relieved, and it suddenly occurred to Wheeljack with a slap of his hand to his brow that they hadn't told her host mother anything. _"Is she all right? I was assuming she was with you since she didn't come home. Was it another slumber party?"_

Wheeljack shook his head. "Not this time, ma'am. Miko got out of school early 'cause she was sick."

_"Oh good Lord . . . Is she all right?"_

He nodded as Miko watched with high suspicion at their talk. "Yeah, she's doing a lot better now. Up and plucky, and giving us all a hard time."

Miko narrowed her eyes. "Watch it." Wheeljack just grinned.

_"Well okay then. I trust you."_ Her acclamation made Wheeljack squirm a little on the inside. _"Take care of her for me."_

"Sure thing." As he disconnected, he nodded to Jack. "Now I'll go get Arcee."

Going down the silo halls and invading Arcee's room. He smirked at the sight of the pretty femme lying on her berth, optics cut off in a recharge.

Wheeljack grabbed her without preamble, bellowing, "ARCEE, EMERGENCY!" and tossed her out on the floor. Arcee yelped, but not before she immediately threw herself into a roundhouse kick at her attacker, hitting him square on the side of his helm.

Wheeljack reared back with a shout, rubbing the sore spot and glaring down at the startled femme. She stared wildly at him before growling, "Wheeljack! You fragger! What in pit was that for?"

"What the frag was THAT for!" he snarled back, each of them at opposite ends of the room to glare at each other and curled up for the attack. "Primus slag you, woman, every time I get around you, you haul off and hit me!"

She pursed her lips. "Well, you deserve it! What's the emergency? Is someone hurt? What's going on?"

Wheeljack snorted and crossed his arms. "Miko's hungry. Jack needs a ride to the KO Burger."

Arcee stared at him for a beat that extended a full three seconds. Then, she scowled and stomped out, grumbling the whole way.

Wheeljack chuckled to himself and followed the irritated Arcee back to the main hangar of the silo. "And stay out of my room," Arcee finally growled at him, pointedly keeping her face forwards.

"Sure thing, Your Highness." When she hissed again, Wheeljack gave a big laugh when they turned into the main hangar. "I can't help it, Arcee, you're so easy to pick on!"

"Let's go, Jack." She transformed down without any preamble, and when Jack sat down, she took off with a squeal of tires. The boy yelped and hung on for dear life as she gunned it out of the silo.

Wheeljack chuckled until Miko said with a much clearer voice than yesterday, "All right. Jackie? The story? About Whirl?"

He snorted again, arching a brow at Miko and putting his hands on his hips. "Well, I don't know about telling it again since you fell asleep the first time I tried telling it . . ."

"PLEASE?" she begged, giving a pair of . . . oh Primus, were those puppy dog eyes? Any more teasing Wheeljack could have had died in his throat when she gave him that look—unfortunately, she was going to be able to get whatever she wanted with a look like that.

Retelling Time Bomb's story for her, a bit more animated and in detail than before, he was satisfied at how easily he sucked her into the story. By the end, she was laughing like mad, voice periodically cracking in and out, but for the most part, she looked to be gaining her health back.

"Tell another one!" Miko laughed, sitting backwards on the couch to face him. Wheeljack thought a moment, and then he grinned. Launching into another engaging story, Miko listened raptly. Primus, this was one of the best ones, and he had Miko hanging by a thread.

"So there we were," he continued with a grin, "no communications, low on energon, surrounded by 'Cons, and you know what I did?"

Miko all but jumped out of her seat and crowed, "You lobbed your only grenade right into the primary heat exchanger!"

Wheeljack laughed, shaking his head, "I—Wait, yeah, that is what I did. How did you know that?"

She grinned, wiping beneath her nose. "Bulkhead already told that one, pretty boy."

Wheeljack groaned. "Aw, slaggit! Are you kidding me? And you let me keep yakking like that?" He suddenly narrowed his optics. "I'll bet you he stole my thunder on the Battle of Darkmount Pass too."

"The one where the Wreckers were stuck between Decepticons and the smelting pit? And you used Decepticon butts as floaties over the molten metal? Yup, that one too."

Wheeljack heaved a great groan of irritation. "Bulkhead! Aw, man, I can't believe he did that! That was MY story to tell—he wasn't even there! I bet he didn't do it justice! Slag, and it was one of the best ones!"

Miko poked her tongue out. "Quit being a whiny butt and tell another!"

"Ha!" Wheeljack rested his hands on the railing, narrowing his blue optics at Miko. "Like I'm going to tell another. This one's MY story! Sit down and be quiet—you're gonna have a real mech tell you this story!"

Miko laughed at Wheeljack's disdain, but a light honk efficiently stole her attention. She nearly scrambled over the arm of the couch to get a better look as Arcee drove back into the base, Jack accompanying her.

"My hash brown!"

Jack removed his helmet with a slightly disgruntled face. "What? No greeting for me?"

She shook her head. "Hi, Jack. _Hash brown . . ._"

Wheeljack shrugged at Jack as he started up the steps to the impatient girl. "She's got a one track mind, kid. Give her the food and THEN see if you can talk to her."

He barely got the hash brown out of the bag before she grabbed it and took a bite. She moaned freely at her first taste of food in over a day, sprawling out dramatically on the couch.

"Jack, you sure are a piece of work."

He paused, frowning before he set her Sprite on the coffee table. "I'm not sure whether that was a compliment or not . . ."

"Well," Wheeljack said brusquely, "I don't care if it was or not. Sit down! I'm telling the Battle of Darkmount Pass!"

Jack's brow arched. "You mean the one where—"

"Yes, that one!" Wheeljack barked before Jack could sum it up horribly. He jabbed a finger at the smaller human. "It's my story, and I'm telling it! Now sit down and listen or scram!"

Jack held up a hand in surrender, sitting down and fishing out his own food. Wheeljack was almost certain he heard Miko mutter something about "control freak" and Wheeljack felt himself bristle again.

Well . . . it was HIS story!

"All right," he started in without preamble. "You know ol' Prim is as self-righteous as they come, so our story starts with him being a brash idiot that wants to prove himself. How does he decide to do it? Well, he decides he'd infiltrate the great fortress of Darkmount! It goes without saying the glitch-heap got himself captured."

Wheeljack looked down on the two humans listening eagerly as the story had already started different from the quick sketches they knew. He felt smug in his chest as he realized he also had a listener in Arcee—that was right. His story, and he'd tell it right!

"Now, Darkmount is an ancient fortress on Cybertron, the capitol of Polyhex, a Decepticon controlled city. Long ago, it was built around the caldera of a great magma plume that welled up from the center of Cybertron." He heard Miko breathe out a sigh of wonder. "For a period of time in the Great War, it was the seat of power for Lord Straxus, a dogmatic Decepticon that fed dissenters into a massive smelting pool, a cauldron of magma that sat menacingly in Darkmount's shadow." Another breath of awe from Miko. "The smelting pool empties through ducts into a canyon that Darkmount looms over."

"So," Miko interrupted quickly, "smelting pools are like death for you guys?"

"One of the nastiest kinds!" Wheeljack confirmed with a menacing tilt of his lip and optics darkening. "That was where our good friend Pyro was destined for. Ultra Magnus split us into two groups—the five for Ruination, and then the rest of us."

"Ruination?"

Wheeljack grinned at Miko—forgot she didn't know. "Yeah, it was Rotorstorm's idea. It's a gestalt form of the Wreckers—you combine five of us together to create a bot big enough to make even the Decepticons cry for their mama!"

Miko crowed, voice cracking once more to echo her fading sickness before she grinned. "All right! Who were the five that made up Ruination?"

"Impactor, Topspin, Twin Twist, Roadbuster, and Whirl were the poor mechs chosen for it—I wasn't about to volunteer." Wheeljack snorted. "Please, I wasn't about to be a leg . . . I'll tell you where Ruination came up from later." A rakish grin suddenly crossed the Wrecker's face. "Yeah, there'll be some fun stories coming later on about those glitch-heads trying to get it together . . ."

He trailed off, chuckling to himself at the thought. Shaking his head, he repeated, "So two teams, Ruination and the rest. Impactor and them combined into Ruination first thing, knocking down the massive doors of Darkmount like a picket fence. We split and moved out direct and furious, shocking those 'Cons into submission when we first engaged—they couldn't believe we were brash enough to knock on the doors of death!"

Miko whooped again, jumping up on the couch with her half-eaten hash brown. "That's right! Wrecker style!"

Wheeljack grinned—a true wrecking fleshing! He put his fist up to her. "Wreck'n'rule!"

"Wreck'n'rule!" she hollered, and she gave him a ferocious fist bump—only to hiss a moment later and sit back down on the couch, nursing her red knuckles.

Chuckling at her enthusiastic antics, Wheeljack continued, "We blew through the front lines with ease, cutting down 'Cons and showing them our true might. Ultra Magnus led my team in with all his strength, refusing to leave behind a comrade who still had a chance while Impactor and the gestalt team wreaked havoc on the other end of the base. We didn't know who was going to find Pyro first, but we had to radio the others and meet up there if we wanted to get out."

Wheeljack gave a perturbed rumbled. "My team was backed against the wall—the sheer numbers stalled us and had us pinned, unable to do anything but hold out and stay alive. But if you thought our predicament was bad, you're WRONG. It was the others that were in trouble! That sneak Straxus pulled a fast one on us—he led Impactor's team right into a trap!" Miko gasped, eyes bugging. "He got all of them locked the brig, Topspin mortally wounded as Decepticons began pouring into the room. When the medic is down first thing, you know you're slagged. They should have been terminated that day, but they all account their lives to Twin Twist—that slagger nearly lost it when his brother was so close to offlining. He went feral on those Decepticons with a bloodlust deeper than we'd ever seen from the ruthless bot!"

Miko's jaw was slacking in astonishment; Jack was riveted, half-eaten food almost forgotten in the heat of the moment. Wheeljack felt his lips pull into a grin, and his optics flashed wickedly.

"On my end, me and Bulk were up front, crushing and gutting 'Cons until we were nearly dyed blue from so much energon. Rotorstorm, Seaspray, and Springer were behind us, gunning down anyone who got too close, and Ultra Magnus—he was taking on Straxus himself!"

Miko all but leapt from the couch—though, she did make it to standing again. "Oh my gosh!" she squeaked. "He was? What happened? What happened!"

"Straxus was no pushover," Wheeljack said seriously, optics darkening in remembrance of Ultra Magnus's savage fight with the 'Con. "This 'Con was a brutal powerhouse with a deadly battle pickaxe—and he knew how to use it! It was no secret that when he went digging," and Wheeljack tapped his chest, "he sure wasn't looking for gold."

Miko suddenly blanched of all color, crossing her arms over her chest. "So? How'd you beat him?"

"Beat him?" Wheeljack gave a harsh laugh, making Miko squirm a bit more in her seat with worry. "Miko, this 'Con wasn't one you just _beat_. He was ruthless, so terrible that even MEGATRON left him alone!"

"B-But," Jack finally stuttered, finding his voice, "you guys made it out, right?"

"Of course he did," a contemptibly bored voice cut in, and Wheeljack freely rolled his optics hearing Ratchet's voice carry. He was listening—he was just acting disinterested. "He's standing right here, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Arcee agreed, "but he's lost team mates. The others might not have been so lucky." She turned cold blue optics on Wheeljack in the silent gesture to finish his story, and a wave of shock hit him.

By PRIMUS she was serious! So serious! Here he was just having fun entertaining them, and she was acting like it was life and death! Well . . . at the time it was, but not now! Something about her last comment was a whole lot more personal . . .

Ignoring it, Wheeljack grinned at the intensely worried humans. "If you think we Wreckers were going down that easily, you've got another thought coming to you! My group was getting pushed farther and farther into the evil depths of Darkmount, back towards the very place where Pyro was going to be melted down for spare parts. The kid was tied up—hanging by a chain above the pit of hell that was going to snuff his spark.

"When Ultra Magnus caught sight of Pyro, he immediately ordered us off—Springer, cause of his flying alt mode, was to set Pyro free. Bulkhead, Seaspray, and Rotorstorm were to hold the perimeter and not let them push us back another inch. And, when Straxus landed a costly blow on Mags's leading arm, I was called in as his backup."

His gestures were getting more animated the more into it he got, but Miko's gasp of horror was well worth it, eyes rounder than sauces. "YOU had to help fight Straxus?"

"Sure did!" he barked, crouching as he detailed several of his movements as he fought his unseen enemy. "The 'Con was bigger than me, could have given even Megatron and Optimus a run for their undercarriage, but with Ultra Magnus fighting with me, I felt invincible!" He shook his head. "Our pin was looking good compared to where Impactor and the others were left. Topspin was locked in stasis, and Twin Twist followed. Impactor, Roadbuster, and Whirl could only dig in deep and fight on against the Decepticons that came to terminate them, the bodies stacking high. Only through the sheer determination of Roadbuster, Whirl's insane works, and Impactor being too stubborn to roll over and die were they able to hang on."

Wheeljack whirled again, optics lit up bright at the climax of the story. "Springer got Pyro down, and the kid was finally put to good use in helping us slag some of those 'Cons! Despite one of his propellers being mangled, Springer got his aft to work and we fought again, but despite working so hard, we were getting pushed back beyond where we should."

Miko's throat tightened before she snatched in a breath, not realizing she wasn't breathing. "We were trapped between those Decepticons and the smelting pit. Those 'Cons were vicious, bearing down on us with everything they had. Ultra Magnus and I were doing good to just hang tough with Straxus attacking with all his insanity." He suddenly smashed his fists together, making Miko and Jack jump. "But were weren't about to let up now—our teammates were on the brink of death in the brig! We engaged the enemy with the force of those with nothing else to lose—a united force, roaring out the cry of _Wreck'n'rule! Wreck'n'rule!_"

He bellowed it out at the top of his lungs, adrenaline starting to rush in his systems in remembrance of the glorious battle. "Ultra Magnus and I brought a united front against Straxus, and that 'Con didn't stand a chance! I distracted the mech for a nanoclick with a flash of my blades, taking out his optics! Ultra Magnus launched both missile launchers at that 'Con, and he blasted him into oblivion, sending him straight to the smelting pits he had abused for so long!"

Miko couldn't help but let out a yelping shout of excitement as the tide of battle finally turned, and Wheeljack grinned. "With that, we turned it around! The fires of battle awakened in us! We hacked and slashed our way forward, leaving that 'Con scum for scrap! Trapped on the other side of the molten metal, I saw Straxus floating there, aft up, sinking so slowly it wasn't noticeable, and that was when it hit me—that was our flotation device! The 'Cons!"

Wheeljack laughed freely, enthralled at the remembrance of the suicidal idea. "We took the dead bodies of the 'Cons we had crushed and tossed them into the smelting pit, and we used their fat-aft backsides as stepping stones to make our way across!"

Miko whooped again. "Thank a Decepticon for having a big butt!" she yelled.

Wheeljack chuckled deeply, a rakish grin alighting his face. "We dashed right past the stunned 'Cons that were supposed to blockade us, and before we ran back in the halls, I took my grenade. I threw it over my shoulder, right into that smelting pit, and the doors slammed shut behind us right as that place went supernova! The blast was so big it nearly knocked us off our feet and it blew the doors in! Miko, there was nothing left of those remaining 'Cons but a bit of charred ground!" They both laughed.

"When we finally made it to Impactor's team, Roadbuster and Rotorstorm tossed the stasis-locked Topspin and Twin Twist over their shoulders, and we hauled aft to get out of there! Your gears were grinding so bad at this point you wanted to drown in an oil bath, your energon was so low it was a wonder you were still functioning, and even YOU," and he jabbed a finger at Miko, "could have knocked us down! With a last drive, we burst through what was left of the front doors of Darkmount and left that wretched place behind for good!"

Miko crowed in triumph, jumping on the couch again, and she pumped her fists into the air. "That's right! WRECK'N'RULE!"

"WRECK'N'RULE!" Wheeljack bellowed after her, laughing up a storm. "Oh man, victory was so _sweet!_ We all made it out in mostly one piece, and we eventually coaxed Topspin and Twin Twist out of stasis. Word spread like fire that we had conquered Darkmount like that, and I suppose that worked against us." Wheeljack put a hand on his hip and chin, giving a thoughtful grumble. "We were all in too bad of shape to try and fortify the place, so it was overrun again by Decepticon reinforcements sent by Shockwave." He shrugged it off with a grin. "Man, we were all but legendary around Polyhex after that! They couldn't believe the Wreckers had infiltrated and all but destroyed that place AND taken down Straxus!"

Miko yipped a couple more times before falling back on the couch, exhausted. "Oh my gosh, Wheeljack, you were totally right—didn't even COMPARE to what we had heard!"

"Told it a million times better," Jack echoed with a grin, giving a thumbs up.

Wheeljack chuckled haughtily, crossing his arms. "I told you so! MY story—_I_ tell it best!"

Finally, Arcee let the quirk of a smile tip her lips. "Fine. You can have it, Wheeljack, that was an intense story."

"Of course it was!" he boasted, lips slanting up cockily. "Never a dull moment when you're a Wrecker!" He winked at her, but she merely wrinkled her nose at him.

Miko suddenly popped up. "Wait—Wheeljack, who's Shockwave?"

Wheeljack waved a hand. "Nah, I'll tell you about that 'Con scum later on today. For now, pack up and let's hit the road! Your host mom is bound to be worried, and you need a change of clothes—and a toothbrush."

Miko suddenly turned a shade of green. "Ew, oh my gosh . . . Ew, this is so disgusting!"

Wheeljack gave a laugh and a wink. "If you think THAT was disgusting, check out what you did yesterday—you ate the popsicle that Jack licked!"

A sheen of red suddenly combated the green. "EW, Wheeljack, you're going to make me hurl—!"

She dropped her face into her hands in shame, and Wheeljack just laughed more. "Hup to it, kiddo! We'll come back here and share more war stories later on!"

She perked up. "Okay! Let me get my stuff!"

Wheeljack blinked at her a couple times, taking in how she was suddenly cleaning up her mess and getting ready to go in a flash. Also, she seemed to be much healthier than she was before.

Well, that was a quick recovery.

* * *

><p>True to his word, after Miko cleaned up and pacified her host mother, they returned to the base to tell more war stories. Miko heard several about Shockwave dominating Cybertron with only the Wreckers standing in his way, and Wheeljack was pleasantly surprised when MIKO opted to tell a few. He was alternately horrified and impressed at the rash little human as she told him about being right in the midst of battles—stowed away in Bulkhead to rescue Fowler, took on Soundwave with an axe (go Miko!), and trapped in the Decepticon mine with Bulkhead trying to protect her.<p>

And, Miko was healthy again. The rate at which she recovered startled Wheeljack, but by evening, she was eating healthy sized meals again with gusto—and continuing to order Jack around.

They were on top of the silo that evening, in the small crack in cliff face—the same place Wheeljack had parked the Jackhammer, the same place he had talked with Bulkhead the night before he had died. Oiling one of the wings that had been wanting to jam a little in the last flight, Wheeljack glanced over at Miko who was sitting in the crack's opening, plucking her guitar softly since her amp was inside. He turned up his audio receptors, the tune so faint he could barely pick it up, but . . . he was pleasantly surprised this time to hear something pretty coming from her guitar.

"Whatcha playing?"

She jerked violently, hand slapping to the strings quickly to hide the sound. "N-Nothing," she stuttered, and he was even MORE surprised when she blushed sky high, looking away from him. "Just a new song I'm trying to figure out . . ."

Wheeljack chuckled at her embarrassment. "Sounds good," he told her, ducking around the wing flap and double checking for any hampering. "If you played more stuff like that, I wouldn't be so adverse to the electric guitar."

He didn't miss the way her lip curled. "Yeah, you would . . ." Instead, she merely passed her hand over the guitar strings before looking out to the setting sun that cast its warm glow in the indented cave. "Jackie?" she whispered quietly. "How are we going to do it?"

Wheeljack's hands stilled on the Jackhammer. A heavy sigh decompressed from his body as he stood straight again. For good measure, he rotated the wing once more to see it functioning properly before he walked over to the mouth of the cave. He sat down with Miko, and he rubbed his face a moment as he looked down at his charge.

His spark rate picked up immediately at the thought of her near Dreadwing again. Primus, she was so soft, so intensely _breakable _that it tore his spark out. He couldn't even begin to imagine her at Dreadwing's mercy again, much less willingly taking her in range of that heinous 'Con. With a wry and inward laugh, Wheeljack finally understood Optimus's worry.

Eventually, he admitted heavily, "I don't know. Miko . . ." He looked up at her, and her big brown eyes made him rub the pinch between his brows. "Honestly, even thinking of you near that 'Con scum gets me scared," he confessed, looking her square in the eyes. "I just . . ." Giving another aggrieved sigh, Wheeljack leaned back, shaking his head.

It wasn't just her being human that scared him. Primus, he scared himself. No matter what he had done, he'd never been able to take Dreadwing down. It was no secret to Wheeljack that Dreadwing had, more or less, come out on top during their skirmishes. Whether it was escaping when Wheeljack should have had him pinned, whether it was Wheeljack being forced to retreat because he had too many wounds, there was always SOMETHING that set Dreadwing out as the victor, even if it were a draw . . .

And then, those spark breaking times where he stole a life right from under Wheeljack's nose.

The troubled Wrecker let a tight hiss of air groan from his pistons. Hearing muted shuffling, Wheeljack opened his optics to look down and see Miko rummaging through her backpack. She pulled out the grenade he had made for her, and she held it in cupped hands, orange glow of the sunset casting an eerie glint off of it.

"I have this," she whispered softly. She looked up with those brown eyes so fierce, and he watched her neck tighten and relax with passion. "Wheeljack, with this, I can help you. I—I can help protect you. I—" Her jaw clenched suddenly, and she shook her head. Her body trembled. "Wheeljack," she rasped, "I could kill him myself."

He leaned forward immediately, optics frowning down on her. "Miko . . . I'd rather you not." She looked up with wide, tormented eyes, and Wheeljack felt his spark wrench painfully.

_Dear Primus . . ._

He scooped her up in his hand and sat crisscross to sit her on his knee. He pressed a finger to her back. "I just . . . You're still just a wee sparkling," he murmured, unconsciously using Cybertronian terminology instead of human. "I don't want you carrying that kind of energon on your hands . . ." He shook his head again. No. Not her . . . If he could, she should stay chaste as possible—another murder on his own hands wasn't going to change his fate . . . If she didn't kill Dreadwing herself, she would stay pure, and with Wheeljack dealing the final blow, she would be set free of the chains of the past. Even if he died under the tormenting weight of his sin and haunting past . . . If she could live free, that was what he lived for.

" . . . Jackie? Is something wrong . . . ?"

Wheeljack looked up, her voice snapping him back to the present. He shook his head. "No, it's all right," he said, letting her rest against his hand. He sighed again, looking down on her and the grenade she held so easily in her hands, rolling it restlessly. The sight of her with such a deadly weapon in her petit hands made something knife through Wheeljack.

_So innocent and so harrowing . . ._

"I'll do the fighting," he told her, and she listened raptly, clenching the grenade in her hands. "I want you to try and stay out of the way for the most part; that way you won't get underfoot, or any such other mess. _I'll_ battle Dreadwing, weaken him, get his sole focus on me and only me. That way, you can come in with that," and her hands bleached against the grenade, "and catch him off guard."

Her white lips trembled a moment, but her eyes were cold as much as the steel of Wheeljack's blade. "How will I know when?" she asked quietly, with a surprisingly steady voice.

Wheeljack pinned her down with intense blue optics. "Trust me," he told her seriously, "you will know."

"Not a doubt?" she whispered.

Their gazes crackled with the fires of revenge.

"Not a doubt."

After a moment, Miko nodded and looked down at the weapon in her hands. "So . . . how are we going to find Dreadwing?"

After a long moment where Wheeljack stared at her in the waning light, he finally muttered, "Just leave that to me. He'll come."

The night finally swallowed the sun, snuffing the light into darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Remember, comment or PM and tell me if you'll hate me for a small interface drabble here or there, and if you do want interface, what type? (spike/valve, spark play, ect . . .)**


	13. You Wish You Could

**Author's Note:**

**First: Wow! :O You guys really spoke up about the interfacing thing! Thanks so much for making your opinions known, I loved reading your comments. As for my decision . . . I'm still waffling XD Some of you guys are all for interfacing, some don't want it, some will just skim over it . . . So I don't know for sure if I'll add it in or not. Maybe I'll make a decision soon. XD**

**Second: HURT WAS SO AWESOME! :D Almost cried for Wheeljack (i seriously thought he was gonna die, I was screaming at Miko for missiles) Knockout was funny, and Megatron being so impressed at Miko at the end had me freaking out. Miko falling asleep with Wheeljack was precious, and the look on that poor mech's face! ^^ Out of the Past was epic too! :D I forgot how chatty Cliffjumper was, and I loved him! A one-liner for everything! XD Yup, Arcee was totally digging him ;)**

**Third: Fun fact, the nicknames I had debated on using for Miko included "kid" but I chose against it cause it sounded too impersonal. ;) "kid" "chick/chicka" and "shug" like the first part of the word sugar. Those were what I debated before "babe" and it's a good thing I chose against "kid"!**

* * *

><p>"Whoo-hoo! This is AMAZING!"<p>

Wheeljack just rolled his optics as Miko ran into the Jackhammer with a demeanor that screamed she was either going to rupture from the inside out or piss herself in excitement. The ship was massive compared to her, easily mansion-sized and then some. Still, as she flitted around like she had ADD, asking a multitude of questions that even Wheeljack couldn't keep up with, he felt a fond smile tipping up his mouth plates. It was really was cute.

Then, he snorted to himself. Primus, _cute._ He hadn't even known the word was in his vocabulary. The Wrecking team would have teased him to no end that he was getting soft.

Wheeljack cocked his head as he watched Miko run into a corridor of the ship, backpack banging against her back. Well, that was, until they _really_ got to know this Wrecking human.

"Hey, Miko!" he called, entering the ship and closing up the back. "Get outta my recharge room!"

"WOOOOOOOW," he heard her voice echo out. "This is so cool!"

Wheeljack grunted and went in after her, finding her ogling the grand multitude of weapons and equipment. "Can you use ALL of this?" she gaped, inspecting every inch of the room. "Your bed is HUGE! I could fit my house in here! Imagine if we jacked this place up with some serious speakers!" She gave a whoop. "We could really _rock!_"

Again, he rolled his optics at her over enthusiasm to the weapons on racks on the walls and the big cabinet that held every part he needed to built, cut, weld, repair, and keep everything up and running smoothly. "Miko—"

"What's in the safe?" she asked, gesturing to said cabinet that didn't really look like a safe to begin with, and wasn't even _locked_ for Primus's sake! "Is it top secret? I'll bet it's a bomb even bigger than I've seen! It'll blow all of Nevada and then the entire _NEMESIS_, am I right? Where do you keep your extra parts? How do you fix yourself if you're on your own? Do you do it yourself? What if it was on your back where you couldn't reach?" She ran around the room more, Wheeljack looking on with silent bemusement as she ran under the berth—wait a minute—!

"Do you ever get lonely? What do you do for fun—What's this?"

Wheeljack dropped to his knees, ducking his head to look beneath the berth where she was pulling at the holopad that was big enough to be a king sized bed. She was inspecting it intently, trying to figure out its function when Wheeljack growled, "It's nothing. Give it here!"

Infuriatingly, she pushed it farther back and took herself with it, getting them both stuck in the farthest corner beneath the bed and in the crack of the wall. Wheeljack grumbled irritably and squatted down more, struggling to reach that far. "Miko! That's personal!"

"What?" she asked petulantly with a mischievous grin. "Deep dark secrets?" Wheeljack groaned on the inside when he realized she had managed to activate it through the motion sensors. "I'm not gonna find naked femmes in here, am I?"

The thought was so out of the blue and completely inappropriate for her age that Wheeljack jerked and banged his head against the edge of the berth before snarling in pain. Primus slagged—"No! Are you kidding me?"

"Well then," she said, quickly managing to sort with the touch oriented hologram, "I don't see the problem! It's not like I found a vibrator." Wheeljack's head hit the bed again. She laughed cheerily, having to use the full force of her hands to get the holopad to realize she was touching it, but she grinned suddenly. "Oooh! What's this? Entitled, _You Wish You Could._" Wheeljack's spark froze. Miko laughed. "Could what? Paint yourself pink?" Her hand moved to access the folder.

"Miko—NO!"

Her hand jumped away, but the file was already activated, the feedback playing a video feed of Wheeljack's optics. The picture was a bit fuzzy, his optics having been glitching at the moment, but the sound came in loud and clear, explosions, gunfire, and screaming, the hellish pandemonium of war.

Wheeljack jolted to his feet and staggered away at the sound of the memories slamming him in the face again. _"You mother fragger!"_ he heard Pyro howl in utter fury, the sickening sound of wet lubricant clogging up his articulators. Wheeljack's spark nearly deadpanned, and his optics went hazy a moment, remembering the sight of the Wrecker that Miko was no doubt seeing on the screen. The haunting image of bright blue energon spitting up from his lips every time he spoke, and his battered form, mangled beyond repair, and his spark beating feebly in plain sight.

_"You swore you had my back! You lied to me! You were never there for me!"_

An unspeakable amount of emotion clogged Wheeljack's throat. He blinked almost unseeing at the wall of his berth room, mouthing the words like a malignant plague. _"I'm here now,"_ he heard himself say, a spurt of static punctuating his past voice. _"Hang on, you hear me? You're not quitting on us yet—!"_

_"That's what you think, you rusting piece of Pit-spawn!"_ Wheeljack felt his articulators clog tightly, and his fingers twitched. It wasn't just him in pain and lashing out at anything. Pyro was personal . . . dying.

_"You can't do anything right, can you? You failed me, Wheeljack!"_

_"No, I didn't!"_ Wheeljack heard Springer scream in pain in the background, and his optics widened—oh Primus no, Miko couldn't see what happened next—! But, by the time he had dropped to his knees and looked back under the bed, it had already happened. She was white-faced, staring almost uncomprehendingly at the flickering screen through Wheeljack's optics as she witnessed him tearing off part of a 'Con's face. The Decepticon screeched in agony, clutching at what remained, but Wheeljack merely gouged through his chest, fishing out the spark and crushing it in his servos, needlessly savage in the kill.

Wheeljack dropped his head to the floor in shame. One of his most brutal kills. A part of him still argued with himself that the slagger deserved it for tearing off Springer's highly sensitive propellers, a commonly picked-on hot spot by the Wrecking crew. Springer had gone nearly mad with pain, and Wheeljack had been so desperate and hair-trigger irate that he had done as primal instincts had ruled.

Miko shouldn't have seen it.

_"Hang on, Primus slag you!"_ he heard himself yell at Pyro above the noise of war. _"Don't you dare give up on me!"_

_"You gave up on me!" _Pyro howled, nearly senseless as he grabbed Wheeljack by the throat.

_"What the frag am I doing here if I've given up on you?"_ Wheeljack heard himself snarl at the dying Wrecker. _"Get it through your short-circuited motherboard, Prim! I'm not leaving this place without you!"_

_ "Eat scrap and deactivate!" _Pyro screamed back, thrashing beneath Wheeljack. The Wrecker shuddered minutely to himself, optics fixated on the ground while Miko's were fixated in horror on the screen. He could FEEL Pyro's energon pulsing up between his fingers. _"If you keep up like that, you'll just get yourself offlined here with me!"_

_"You're not dying if you'd just hold on!"_ Wheeljack roared back furiously, a few shots from his fusion cannon punctuating his sentence. _"I won't let you die! I'll save you!"_

_"You wish you could."_

The words lashed like whips across Wheeljack's countenance. Said so flatly . . . so cold. Wheeljack squeezed his optics shut, trying to forget the hateful cut of Pyro's optics when the Wrecker faded away, but his systems hitched painfully.

The feedback cut off there. He hadn't even gotten to mourn the bot—on the battlefield, there was no time. It was either leave the dead and lost behind, or die with them. Wheeljack was left with no other choice unless he wanted to offline too—a thought that had haunted his processor—but the rest of his Wrecking team had needed him.

He moved on.

The silence seemed to pound on his audio receptors. Wheeljack finally brought reserved optics up to Miko, but she was still staring at the surface of the holopad with a mixture of emotions chasing across her face, the most dominant pure horror.

Finally, the small human took a shaky breath, and trembling hands deactivated the holopad. She was white as marble, and when she looked at him, her eyes seeped with fear, pity, and guilt.

"Wheeljack . . ."

Her voice was a miniscule whisper, but it cut like thunder. Wheeljack resisted a flinch and instead gave Miko a pointed glare.

"Some things are personal for a reason."

She flinched, and her eyes watered. A part of him seethed—good! Let her cry! She shouldn't have pried in places she shouldn't be! Another part of him wanted to just admit to himself that the instant he had told her not to get in the file she had tried to pull her hand away. Primus knew it didn't matter now. He was just surprised that she managed to blink back her leaks and whisper, "I—I'm sorry . . ."

There they were. The burning coals of guilt heaping upon his head. "I don't need your pity!" he snarled. Before he realized it, he had snatched her up from beneath the berth and stalked from the room. He planted her in the passenger seat of the Jackhammer before sitting in the pilot's seat, brooding.

It stayed that way. Miko, too afraid to talk to Wheeljack after witnessing one of his darkest moments and Wheeljack too strangled by emotion to even think of forming a response. Out of all the pit-spawned things she could have found to pick on that slagging holopad, it had to be something like that . . .

Finally, she whispered, "Are they all like that?"

A sharp hiss vented from him. "No," he replied in a clipped tone. They succumbed to silence again as Wheeljack combated his own inner demons that quickly returned to the surface—

Failure. First with Pyro, then Seaspray, then Bulkhead.

_Would this agony never end?_

"I thought . . ." He could barely hear Miko's tear-thickened, guilty voice. "I assumed anything really . . . BAD . . . would be locked."

"Locked?" Wheeljack cut in contemptibly. Primus, the wounds may be as fresh as yesterday, but he shouldn't be taking out his weakness on Miko . . . "Why lock them when no one accesses that holopad but me?"

She flinched and curled into a ball. "I-I'm sorry," she rasped again, nearly inaudible now. "I shouldn't have looked, I just . . . couldn't . . ."

Look away.

An aggrieved sigh vented from Wheeljack. Much like he couldn't look away from Pyro when the mech had died a gruesome death, choking and drowning in his own energon.

"Has it scared you off from revenge on Dreadwing?"

Miko looked up in surprise then. "No! Are you crazy? I just—" and she broke off suddenly, looking pointedly at her knees. "I just . . . couldn't believe that he thought that about you."

"And why not?" Wheeljack growled. He felt his servos tighten into fists. "I did fail him! I wasn't where I was supposed to be, and Pyro suffered the price for it!"

"But you did everything you could!" Miko persisted, big brown eyes looking up wide and lashes damp with tears.

"And how do you know?" he snarled down at her, blue optics glinting icily. "You—" Then, suddenly realizing exactly how he was speaking to her, an aggrieved hiss escaped him. He rocked back in his seat and finally grumbled, "Look, they're my demons, not yours. I'm not about to put that weight on your shoulders."

A significant silence overtook them, and Wheeljack sighed, rubbing his aching head. "I'm sorry for my tone."

"It's okay," Miko murmured just as quietly. "I should have . . . at least been able to turn it off."

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled. He sighed again, before he let a wry and mildly supportive smile tug his lips. "Look, it's not all like that on there. When we get back, I'll have to show you those idiots trying to put together Ruination." Against his will, Wheeljack felt himself immediately give a laugh at the thought even if it fell a bit flat. "That one never fails to bring a laugh." Which was why he treasured it so much.

A small smile twisted up Miko's lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll promise an Impactor so fed up he can't talk, a dancing Whirl, a bored Twin Twist, and a slew of Wreckers laughing so hard we're crying."

They finally cast sideways glances at each other, Wheeljack's optics glowing with the undertones of amusement while Miko's lips curled up a bit more. "Really?"

"Really," he said emphatically. The grin was finally true. "And Roadbuster blows a gasket."

Miko sputtered a laugh before she could stop herself, slapping a hand to her face. "He does? I've always heard about you guys being able to blow gaskets, but I've never actually seen it!"

He winked down at her. "Well, maybe I can arrange something to really set Ratchet off—he's close enough as it is!"

Miko giggled and Wheeljack chuckled. She suddenly looked up with big eyes.

"Oh, um . . . I left my backpack in your room."

Wheeljack nodded, rising. "I'll get it." He cast a glance over his shoulder to the small human, frowning slightly to himself. Pinching the tiny bag between his fingers, Wheeljack brought it back and gave it to her. Sitting back down, he took in great detail the way her fingers nervously plucked at the backpack, and her readings were of a higher stress level than normal.

"I'm not mad at you," he said suddenly. Her head jerked up. Wheeljack gave some semblance of a shrug, saying, "You had no idea what it was, and if you did, you wouldn't have looked at it."

She wrinkled her nose. Unbelieving, she muttered, "When you said it was personal, I should have backed off . . ."

He gently chucked her chin up. "Don't worry about it, Miko. Can't fix every wrong in this world." Oh how true . . . "Besides, Dreadwing's gonna be one amazing punching bag for me. You probably couldn't have picked a better time for this."

She smirked suddenly, shaking her head. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Not as crazy as Time Bomb."

Miko snorted before she could stop it, and she shook her head. "All right, so how're we supposed to find Dreadwing?"

It was Wheeljack's turn to snort. "We won't have to find him—he'll find us. Check it out." He punched a couple of buttons. "We'll just send him a message to come at, say, these coordinates," and he locked in some coordinates that meant nothing to Miko, "at this time . . . and he'll accept the challenge, no doubt."

Miko crossed her arms, disbelieving. "And how do YOU know what Dreadwing's number is?"

Wheeljack rolled his optics, sending the message. "You're kidding me. I don't HAVE the 'Con's number, Babe. It's a high-frequency signal with an embedded message. The signal's such that it'll go right over the head of any measly human computers, and even if they DID manage to intercept it, it's in Cybertronian—they'd never be able to decode it. The message will just travel around the sound waves until the 'Con's pick up on it. Easy enough. Now, ready to go?"

Miko grinned. "Sure am! But . . . do I need a seatbelt?"

Wheeljack cast a half-interested look at her. "Nah," he finally decided. "I'll fly straight." He chuckled as he powered up the Jackhammer. "THIS time, at least. I'll get you a seatbelt so the next time we can do some real flying."

Miko crowed again, grinning rakishly as the engines roared. "All right! Here we come, Dreadwing!"

Wheeljack laughed heartily and took off.

However, it only took a moment of flying before Miko complained, "I can't see down here, Wheeljack!"

Steadying the controls with one hand, Wheeljack reached over and picked up the human and sat her on his broad shoulder. She grabbed on his audio receptor before breathing out in awe.

"_Whoa . . ._ This is totally wicked!"

Wheeljack felt a laugh rumble up and out. "Sure thing, Babe." He guessed the sight of the grounds whipping away was new to her, but it was old news for Wheeljack. Miko delighted greatly in the ride, gushing at this and that as the scenery went by, and it almost seemed to Wheeljack that she was so cheery she had forgotten that they were out to get revenge on Dreadwing. Then, by the time he pulled up in a fairly northern part of Nevada, he landed the ship and she was wide-eyed at the arena.

It was a huge basin, deep and empty save for several small rocks that jutted up here and there—as empty as possible for the tussling Cybertronians, but the stones for Miko to hide behind. Wheeljack and Miko looked at each other, and of unspoken agreement, nodded.

That 'Con was going down.

It took a while—Wheeljack told her it would be roughly thirty minutes for Dreadwing to get there when he accepted the invitation, and so they spent the time chatting. When the hour drew near, Wheeljack had Miko hide behind the Jackhammer's thrusters and waited.

Dreadwing didn't keep them waiting. Wheeljack's optics drew up at the sound of the great Decepticon's engines, and he transformed and landed.

The instant his feet touched the ground, Wheeljack's chronometer read their meeting time.

Dreadwing drew up to his full height with a disbelieving arch of his brow. "My scanners read another life form. Did you bring the human thinking that you could gloat when you kill me?"

"That's the idea," Wheeljack said coolly, leaning against the Jackhammer. He stood straight with a devilish glint in his optics.

Dreadwing smirked. "Do not delude yourself, Wheeljack. I am going to send you straight to the Pit."

Wheeljack smirked back. "I'll be sure to save you a seat by the fire."

Wheeljack's hands reached up and clamped around the hilts of his swords. He drew them out slowly while Dreadwing did the same, revealing his longer blade. "I could say the same to you," Dreadwing said smoothly. His fiery red optics glinted. "My lord and master would be most pleased to hear that there is yet again one less Autobot to oppose him."

Wheeljack felt himself prickle at Dreadwing's sly gloating over killing both Seaspray and Bulkhead. "All for the glory of Megatron," Wheeljack drawled sarcastically. He let his battle mask slide into place. "You're loyalty to him is almost cute. Like a little _puppy dog_."

"The same is true of your human pet," Dreadwing spat, optics darkening minutely as they began to pace. "How very loyal of her to come to this place just to _die_ with you."

Wheeljack gritted his dentures and twirled one of his blades with promising threat. His feet slid over the dusty ground and his optics narrowed. "Is that so? I'd hate to disappoint you, Dreadwing, but that's not how this is going to happen. I'm going to sink my blades in your spark chamber."

A rather disturbing smile curled the edges of the 'Con's lips in anticipation. "I'll leave you in pieces," he taunted. "Just like Bulkhead."

There was a beat of silence as they circled, and Wheeljack's optics zeroed in on the blue Decepticon. However, both mech's were surprised at a pissed off shout.

"Take this you 'Con scum!"

Wheeljack felt his tanks curdle and his optics snap to where Miko had chosen to already throw her grenade full of hate. Dreadwing's optics had just enough time to widen before the grenade "chinked" off his back and then exploded barely a foot away.

The 'Con roared in pain while Miko squealed from the resounding explosion, and Wheeljack leapt forward with his war cry before Dreadwing could gather his bearings. Well, if she wasn't going to wait for the opportune time, at least she had weakened him before they engaged!

Miraculously and irritably, Dreadwing managed to get his sword up in time to block Wheeljack's attack. Falling into a deadly pattern of battle Wheeljack had experienced many a time over, he heard Miko's voice punctuating each clash of metal.

"Wheeljack—sorry, I know I—pposed to wait—got so angry—he brought—Bulkhead like that!"

Catching her drift, Wheeljack tried to formulate an answer, but was currently too focused on Dreadwing's cutting blade to get his articulators to work. Working in a quick punch to Dreadwing's side, the 'Con grunted and grabbed Wheeljack's neck. Pushing on his shoulder, Wheeljack slammed his fist into his wings—a universal hot spot for flying Cybertronians—and was rewarded with a pained shout and Dreadwing letting go, backing off and putting careful distance between them.

"No need to worry about that, Babe," he told Miko lightly, managing to give her a quick wink before he zeroed back in on the seething Dreadwing. "You got him right in those sensitive wings of his. I doubt you could have done better than that."

Dreadwing brandished his weapon with a flair that spoke of grace and death. "She will regret having done that," he warned levelly.

Wheeljack made a mental note in his head—stay between Dreadwing and Miko.

As Wheeljack and Dreadwing engaged again, parrying and lunging with swords clashing and bodies dodging, Miko suddenly realized what she had done as she got a good look at Dreadwing's rather mangled wings and energon running down his back.

"Oh my gosh! I got him, didn't I? Take that, you Decepticreep! How do you like me now!"

Against his will, Wheeljack felt a laugh bubbling up, and he used both swords to push Dreadwing's sword back. He jerked his knee up, intending to hit the 'Con in the gut, but Dreadwing danced backward. The hell with it—Wheeljack still didn't use his katanas but simply jumped up and kicked the 'Con in the chest, successfully making him stagger backwards.

A glint of the sun against Dreadwing's armor nearly blinded Wheeljack a moment, but he kept his attacks full throttle at his foe. Slicing right and left, Wheeljack cut Dreadwing deeply across the chest, and the pain made the Decepticon snarl and throw a left hook so tough that it keeled Wheeljack across the brittle grounds. Dust and debris collected in his back armor as he flipped to a crouched position, and his optics registered a charging Dreadwing before he was tackled to the ground.

Grunting heavily at the full force of the Decepticon colliding into him, Wheeljack lost his grip on his katanas and suffered a powerful punch to his face, the battle mask absorbing the brunt of the blow. Crying out when Dreadwing began to lay into him, Wheeljack caught the bigger 'Con's fists, gritting his dentures in determination as he felt the gears in his arms protest at holding back his power.

Dreadwing's red optics narrowed at Wheeljack who struggled beneath him. "Why do you care so much?" he finally questioned the Wrecker, a true hint of curiosity underlying his voice. "Why risk your life for a meager fleshing?"

Wheeljack bared his teeth, gears screeching when Dreadwing's force began to push his elbows to the ground. "You'd never understand," he gritted out, optics flashing dangerously.

Jamming his head forward into Dreadwing's, Wheeljack succeeded in making the Decepticon shout, rearing back. He jutted his knee up into the 'Con's gut and threw his forearm into his throat, and Wheeljack jumped up when he finally got the heavy bulk of his foe off.

A backhand nearly sent Wheeljack back to the ground, but he spun and came back with a ferocious uppercut and jab to Dreadwing's gut. The 'Con grunted heavily, combating him with a right-hook that connected with his jaw. Wheeljack recoiled, flinching, and then, a hand clamped over his face.

Wheeljack yelled when he felt his feet lifted off the ground, and the earth rushed up to slam into his back. Groaning, he was tossed into the Jackhammer, colliding with the outside of the ship. Panting in cycles of air, Wheeljack's fritzing optics looked up just in time to avoid a ferocious downward slash of Dreadwing's sword.

Dashing away and snatching up his katanas, Wheeljack reared around and glared at the Decepticon. "Hey, watch the hull!"

A clean slice had opened up the ship.

Lunging forward, Wheeljack and Dreadwing began the deadly dance of battle again, blades cutting through the air and clashing with sparks. Each blow shocked up Wheeljack's suspension and made his gears grind at the sheer power Dreadwing induced—the mech was naturally bigger and stronger, and Wheeljack had to make up for his lack of size and power with sheer skill. That went without saying that Dreadwing wasn't extremely experienced himself.

Wheeljack yelled as he closed in again, katanas slamming into Dreadwing's lethal blade with all the force of power behind his will. A ferocious strike and Wheeljack had stricken Dreadwing's leading arm. The 'Con snarled, backing away, and Wheeljack's optics widened at the bomb placed on his chest.

Son of a fragging glitch—!

Yanking off the bomb and throwing it far away, the blast shocked him from behind, making him lose his grip on his blades and go crashing into the hull of the Jackhammer. He was followed by Dreadwing who also lost his sword and banged against the ship.

For a second, both mechs were left gasping in cycles of air to clear their systems and wait for glitching optics and ringing audio receptors to recalibrate themselves. Then, as Wheeljack lumbered back to his feet with fists clenched, the game suddenly changed.

Dreadwing got to his feet just a mite quicker, seizing Miko who was coughing a little from the billow of smoke. Wheeljack's blue optics flared to almost neon white in an instant as rage quickly overtook his systems.

His hands transformed into cannons. "Dreadwing!" he snarled. "Let her go!"

"Make one false move," Dreadwing warned levelly, "and I will crush her in my fist."

Wheeljack's tense stance nearly snapped as the sun beat down on them, warming his already overheating systems. He quaked in anger, slowly lowering his weapons at Dreadwing's sly smirk.

Instead of letting her go and retreating, the Decepticon's chest plates opened up, and Miko squealed when she was tossed inside the compartment. Wheeljack gave a shout, but Dreadwing merely laughed once and attacked again with fist and foot.

Wheeljack ducked beneath raging knuckles, spark slamming hard. "I'll get you for that, 'Con!" he growled dangerously, pummeling him—yet, pounding against his body with reserves now. "You'll wish you had never TOUCHED her!"

A tilt of Dreadwing's lips alerted Wheeljack to a crafty kick of his foot, and Wheeljack managed to avoid the hit to his knee that would have broken his leg. "You say that as if you can change the ending of today's battle," Dreadwing said coyly. He was put on the retreat for a moment at Wheeljack's furious onslaught, but said confidently, "You only wish that you could save her, Wheeljack!"

Wheeljack felt his gears freeze up, and a sharp crack of knuckles to his jaw had him reeling back.

_You wish you could._

Taken completely blindsided, Wheeljack was lambasted with attacks; punches to the gut; a clap to his audio receptors; a sock to the face that had him sprawled on his back again, battle mask cracked.

He groaned, faintly making out Miko's screaming through his audio receptors, and his hand locked around one of his blades. Though he trembled, he sat up and staggered to his feet, eyeing Dreadwing who had his own sword in hand and Miko in the other again.

Wheeljack hissed, bright blue optics pinning to the smug Decepticon. "Let her go!" he snarled in pure hate, both hands clamping around the hilt of his katana.

Dreadwing arched an amused eyebrow and glanced at the human at optic level. "A poor choice of words."

Wheeljack's spark rate rocketed through the roof when Dreadwing just LET HER GO and Miko started to plummet to the ground with a shrill shriek. Shouting, Wheeljack dove and caught her before she could fall building-stories high to the ground—she would have broken her legs at least—

Died at most.

A sword impaled through Wheeljack's shoulder, and he roared in pain, rolling away from the next attack. He tossed Miko out across the ground, barking, "Get out of here! Have Ratchet get a ground bridge!" Staggering to his feet again, Wheeljack whirled to engage Dreadwing again when the 'Con hit him over the audio receptors again, successfully making them malfunction at the blow. Before Wheeljack could properly get a hold of the battle, Dreadwing's forearm hit beneath his chin, and Wheeljack oddly noticed a huge emergency warning of a leak in his body. What? His shoulder couldn't have possibly—

It became painfully clear when Miko screamed in terrified horror.

_"WHEELJACK!"_

His servos trembled and lost their grip on the katana. His sword fell to the ground. Gasping thinly, Wheeljack gripped at the sword impaled through his chassis in disbelief.

_He won. Oh Primus please no, he won . . . Primus . . . I—I . . ._

_ I failed._

His battle mask retracted. Words tangled and strangled in his articulators. Dreadwing smirked in triumph. Miko screamed.

Warning signals were flashing fast and furious across his optics—reporting a punctured energon tank, his spark beating inconsistently, severed energon lines, and various other results that strongly urged him to seek medical attention. Yet, Wheeljack's spark jumped when Dreadwing scooped up the raging human that beat against his fist.

"No—!"

The sword gutted deeper. Wheeljack's words were shortened by a horrific scream, and his knees almost buckled. Miko's attention snapped to Wheeljack.

"Jackie! Jackie, it's going to be okay—!"

Wheeljack felt hate combat with the worry when Miko's words were interrupted by her gasping in pain and jerking against Dreadwing's tightening grip. To Wheeljack's astonishment, however, the Decepticon was scowling at him.

"You know I could easily kill you both right now and there is nothing you could do about it, Wheeljack." He narrowed his red optics at him. "That is all I need to break you."

Wheeljack's flickering optics struggled to focus on him. "Wh . . . What?"

The word was barely a croak. Dreadwing impatiently rolled his optics. "Please," he said contemptibly, "did you really believe that my quarrel was with the human? She is of no concern to me. I am not going to kill her."

Wheeljack's rapidly percolating mind was panicking. "Wh . . . What?" he managed to stammer again, and he felt energon spit from his lips. The energon was flooding the wrong tubes if it was making it up to his articulators already. A bitter and black humor overtook his senses. How fitting the irony that he should die the way Pyro did!

"Jackie!" His mind snapped back to the present and the human he had sworn to protect. Big fat tears were streaking down her dusty cheeks, and her voice was still squeaking from a lack of good air from Dreadwing's tight grip. "It's gonna be okay—Please, please, just stay with me, don't leave me—!"

"I was never going to kill her," Dreadwing said with disdain, wrinkling his nose at Miko. "She is innocent of our quarrel, and I do not care what happens to her." Flicking her away with disinterest, Miko slammed against the side of the Jackhammer and fell in a heap in the dirt.

Wheeljack felt his in cycles hitch. "M-Miko!" Overcome with a painful fit of coughing, more energon drained up through his mouth. The sensation was sickening, and every breath was fought for to clear his systems.

Dreadwing looked at Miko's limp form with a touch of surprise before ignoring it. "Do not fret," he said without inflection. "Her spark yet pumps. You, however—" and Wheeljack groaned, choking when Dreadwing's hand snapped around his throat. Red optics as red as the fires that had consumed Seaspray glinted dangerously. "You, I shall terminate here today, and you will die knowing that I will always hold young Miko's life in my palm; your foolish fantasies of avenging your fallen friends were for naught; and you will _always_ lose to me. Face it, Wheeljack! I was always better!" Wheeljack flinched, his failures eating away at his spark that thundered inside his chassis. "And now, you die—!"

The sudden explosion of a ground bridge made Dreadwing's attention immediately jerk to his oncoming enemy. Wheeljack looked up to see Optimus Prime jump through the ground bridge with Arcee and Bumblebee on either side of him, all three sets of blasters leveled at the Dreadwing.

Before they could even say a word at the sight of a blade punctured through Wheeljack's back, Dreadwing shouted at them, "One step more, and I shall kill him!" As all three Autobots slid to a halt, Dreadwing twisted his sword harshly in warning. Blinding agony tore through Wheeljack, and he screamed again, the sound drowning beneath energon as it flooded up through his articulators. The sound was wet and despairing.

Wheeljack's strength failed him. He felt his knees buckle and his optics short out as stasis lurked closer, pressing its weight down on him. The Wrecker felt himself sag against Dreadwing's wicked blade. A second later, another howling cry, and Dreadwing had yanked his blade out. His life's blood poured out across the dirt when he collapsed, sticky bright blue.

A kick of jet engines. Ratchet was suddenly above him. Wait . . . he wasn't with them . . . how did . . . And suddenly, Wheeljack didn't care again.

"M . . . mi . . . k-k . . . o . . ."

Hands were on him. He almost couldn't see past the warning signals. Breathing rattling weakly in his chest, Wheeljack's mouth filled with energon. Stasis crashed down.

_Seaspray, Bulkhead, Miko . . . I . . ._

_ I'm sorry._

* * *

><p><strong>"Don't forget to remember me!<strong>

**Don't forget (get, get)**

**To remember me**

**I'll be back (back, back)**

**So remember me**

**Please keep me in your heart**

**If we ever have to part**

**Don't forget (get, get)**

**To remember me!"**

**_Remember Me_T.I. ft Mary J. Blige_  
><strong>

**(listen to it)**


	14. Tick Tock, Quick Doc

**Author's Note:**

**The "Cocktail Runner" Wheeljack mentions at the beginning of the chapter alludes to ajremix's 18th chapter of "What's Wrong with a Little Destruction?" of amazing and cute drabbles on the Wreckers. Check it out!**

**htt**

**p:**

**/**

**www.**

**fanfiction.**

**net/**

**s/3738895/18/Whats_Wrong_with_a_Little_Destruction**

* * *

><p>A heavy groan punctured the quiet conversation in the missile silo. Ratchet's comatose patient struggled to awaken, body shifting weakly.<p>

Wheeljack mumbled an almost incoherent curse when pain assaulted his sensors. A hand pressed down on his good shoulder.

His audio receptors struggled to decipher the medic's words, but all he could catch was, ". . . tensive surgery . . . don't need you . . . spark . . . she's with . . . awake . . . eeljack?"

Wheeljack heaved another groan, shifting uncomfortably on his medical berth. He couldn't figure out for the life of him figure out why Ratchet was speaking through a tunnel. His optics finally recalibrated and onlined, but the picture was fuzzy and almost indecipherable through the static. He could make out a form moving above him.

His words slurred. "Feels'like a bad game've Cocktail Runner . . ." He moaned again, each spark beat hurting like he was being carved open. "Only worse."

" . . . still . . . Wheeljack, I need . . . awake . . ."

He faintly heard Ratchet through the other side of the tunnel. Wheeljack's fingers twitched. "Wh're's Miko?"

"She's . . . Jack is . . . focus—" and a hand patted his cheek.

Wheeljack felt a stab of irritation. Where did he say Miko was? He struggled against the stasis that was threatening again. "Ratch . . . M-Mik . . . ko . . . I . . ." His trembling lips didn't want to get the words out that he needed. His vision departed when his optics offlined again. Ratchet's voice kicked up an octave and rose to a shout. The medic was saying something urgently to Wheeljack, a hand shaking his shoulder before he felt his chassis opened. Each of Ratchet's yells lambasted across his audio receptors painfully loud.

"Tell'er . . . m'sorry . . ."

Stasis took him again.

* * *

><p>Jack immediately took off his headphones and pushed away his iPod when Miko stirred. She opened her eyes, and he saw the panic etch across her face.<p>

He jumped up and pushed her back down on the hospital bed when she cried out, "Wheeljack!" and tried to rise. She hissed in pain, and Jack kept his hands firmly on her shoulders.

"Miko!" He squeezed her shoulders, trying to get her attention. "Miko, calm down. Calm down. Breathe."

Still, her breaths came jagged and panicked, and her eyes collided with Jack's. "J-Jack? Where's Jackie? Is he okay? Oh my God, Dreadwing, he—he—"

"I know." He squeezed her shoulders again, trying to comfort her and bring her mind to the present both. "Miko, you need to calm down. Deep breaths—you need to calm down."

Jack felt his throat bob when tears sparked in her eyes. "B-But—Jackie, is he—is he—he—"

"Shh, calm down." He brushed some hair out of her face. "Wheeljack's with Ratchet. And you know Ratchet's not about to let anything happen to him, all right?" Her lips quivered. "Right?" Finally, Miko's ashen face gave some semblance of a nod, and Jack nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed with her. "Now, calm down. Deep breaths—but not too deep, you'll hurt yourself."

Miko squinted at him in confusion, and she looked around, finally taking in her surroundings. The hospital room was bare except for two chairs, a small table, and a small bouquet of flowers with a card. She looked back at Jack.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Two broken ribs and a mild concussion," Jack reported. He gave a vague shrug. "The doctors will probably do some tests and ask you stupid questions. You might be discharged tonight."

Her eyes rounded in horror and anger. "TWO broken ribs and a mild CONCUSSION?" Jack nodded. Frustrated tears beaded in her eyes and her jaw clamped tight.

"Miko?"

"He flicked me."

Jack frowned. "What?"

"Dreadwing!" she snapped angrily, fists clenching. "That's all he did, he just FLICKED me! Stupid! All he did was flick me and I've got two broken ribs and a concussion?" She was blinking rapidly, eyes jumping a little as she struggled to hold back the tears and focus her woozy vision.

Jack grabbed her hand and pressed down on her shoulder again. "Miko, calm down. You both are going to be okay."

Conflicted, Miko turned her face into the pillow as much as she could to hide her tears from him. His throat bobbed again. Jack reached out, and he didn't know whether to indulge in being able to wipe her tears away with his knuckles or worry because she wasn't being her feisty self.

"Miko . . . come on, really? What were you thinking?"

She glared. "I wanted to help!"

"Against a Decepticon?" Jack said seriously. He wanted to talk some sense into her without hurting their friendship . . . or whatever their acquaintance was . . . but he also wanted to keep her safe. He shook his head. "Miko, you're lucky he didn't kill you. We're only human! What could you have possibly done to help against a Decepticon?"

Her eyes flashed, and she muttered, "Well he certainly felt my grenade."

Jack blinked at her. He pinched the bridge of his nose before looking back at the sullen delinquent who was leering up at the ceiling.

"A . . . grenade?"

Miko scowled. "Well how did you THINK I was going to hurt Dreadwing?" Her brows darkened, and she muttered, "I hope he still feels it like a crick in his neck . . ."

"A grenade!" Jack finally exploded, letting go of her hand to frown at her with a rivalry of Ratchet. "What were you thinking! You—You could have killed yourself!"

"Well I didn't, now did I?" Miko shot back.

"Miko, I've know you to do some stupid things, but this by far was the stupidest! Revenge? You can't be kidding me! Miko, there's nothing you can do against Dreadwing, and you've got to get over it one day."

"Get over it?" she hissed. Jack recoiled. Oh, God, how stupid was he going to be? "I can't just get over it!" she cried, hateful tears beading in her eyes. "He has to die, and I don't care how bad I sound for saying that, I want him dead! Jack, he—he's taking away everyone I care about!" A harsh sob curdled in her throat, and she turned her face away again, crying into the flat hospital pillow.

Jack sighed, full of guilt for his last dumb words. "Miko—"

"Go away."

He shook his head. "Look, Miko, I'm sorry, I—"

"Leave me alone!"

"Miko—" He grabbed her hands when she tried to hit him, but she still wouldn't listen; she merely buried her face in the pillow and tried to avoid him, pulling. Jack's hands tightened on her wrists, feeling his throat bob again. How was he supposed to tell her that he worried himself sick when she was in danger? It sounded silly in his thoughts, so it was bound to sound twice as dumb if he said it out loud. Instead, he reached down and wiped away a sparkling tear and leaned forward haltingly.

"Miko . . . Wheeljack's not going to die."

Her dejected voice was muffled by the pillow. "And how do _you_ know that?" she sneered.

"I just do." He bent down a bit more, hesitating above her face. He swallowed uncomfortably and murmured, "Take it easy and . . . have a little faith. This is the Wrecker that survived the battle of Darkmount Pass. He's gonna be fine."

Her shoulders shook, and Jack felt a tight lump clog his throat. With shaking fingers, he wiped away the steady trickle of tears. "Miko . . . C'mon, you can't give up on him."

She rolled over, red rimmed eyes staring back at him. His stomach flipped. Her lips quivered before she finally whispered, "I know . . . It's just . . . hard. I mean—D-Dreadwing just—just—"

Jack swallowed. "Yeah, I heard. Try not to think about it. Okay?" He lifted a silent prayer to the heavens when he realized how close they were.

Miko blinked rapidly, staring widely at him as she fought down the tears, throat bobbing. "Okay . . ."

His hands trembled, and he licked his lips nervously. His heart slammed in his chest. She was right there. C'mon, Jack, this was your moment, right now . . . He snorted on the inside. A lot harder for him to instigate the kiss, huh?

Finally getting a hold of his nerves, Jack touched his mouth to Miko's feeling his heart jump a little. Soft lips, dry with the need of water, but Miko's lips.

A pretty perfect kiss considering the last time she had kissed him their noses had banged together painfully.

Jack leaned back to look at her, and her eyes were slightly bewildered, but she wasn't hostile. Of that, Jack could only be thankful. Eventually, she finally breathed, "Jack . . . can you do that again?"

Then Jack smiled, the tilt of his mouth almost cocky as he said, "Well, I'm sure I could find it in me." He leaned down again, but he jerked back up when he heard the door to their room open.

A touch of heat dyed his face, but Miko ruddied up and snapped, "What do you want?"

The nurse tried to give a comforting smile, and Jack rolled his eyes and hit her arm. "C'mon, Miko. Do I have to tell you to be on your best behavior?"

"No! What do you think I am, five?"

Jack smirked. "Then I guess you'll be on your best behavior for the pretty nurse."

_SLAP!_ The sound of flesh on flesh ricocheted through the room, and Jack shouted. "Well, make up your mind on what you want!" he snapped, astounded that she could go from kissing him to hitting him in less than a few seconds.

Miko growled. "You are so annoying! Just get out! Be useful or something—go get my mom, or something! Where is she?"

Rubbing his stinging cheek, Jack muttered, "She hasn't eaten anything today since she realized you got hurt. I told her to go eat dinner and I'd watch over you."

Her eyes widened. "Wait—y-you mean it's still the same day?" Jack rushed back to her when he heard the hysterics starting to rise again. "You mean Jackie's—"

"Calm down," he repeated, taking her hand and pressing on her shoulder. Though she struggled, she tried. "I told you, R—" He faltered, eyes momentarily jumping to the nurse waiting patiently for them. "I told you, the Doc's working on him right now. He's not going to let anything happen to him. All right?"

She bit her lip so hard it bled, and Jack knew it was to stop the tears in her eyes from falling. "O-Okay . . . Can you keep me posted?"

Her innocent plea made any irritation at the slap melt away. "Yeah, sure. I can do that," he promised her.

She nodded before blinking away the tears and wrinkling her nose at the sight of the nurse. "Well, then go ahead and get out. She's going to ask stupid questions, and it'll be stupider if you're sitting here watching. So get out."

Jack just rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Exiting the room for Miko's weird sense of privacy, Jack sighed to himself and pressed a palm to his forehead.

A grenade. Out of all the stupid things to do—a grenade. He didn't know whether to furious at Wheeljack for giving it to her or her for taking it! Expelling a frustrated breath, Jack took out his cell phone to contact the one person in his contacts list that he had never thought he would really have to use.

_ Got a minute? Need to tell you something_

True to his gracious personality, Optimus was prompt to respond, his text unlike others—perfectly punctuated and correct grammar.

_What is it, Jack?_

Jack swallowed uncertainly, fingers hovering above the keys. A part of him didn't want to tell him. Both Wheeljack and Miko were bound to get in heaps of trouble they really didn't need it since one was in the hospital and the other comatose. Jack pinched his nose, sighing in frustration. Wheeljack might not even survive to get a lecture. Still, the human knew it was wrong, and he felt his reluctant fingers typing the message.

_Wheeljack gave Miko a grenade_

However, Optimus's next message was delayed, as if he was either consulting with Ratchet or taking in the information with a great deal of conflicted anger and frustration. Jack could almost FEEL the disapproving vibrations of the Prime's voice in his next text.

_I see. Thank you for informing me. How does Miko fare?_

_Two broken ribs and a mild concussion. The docs are checking her out now. I talked to her and shes fine_

Jack could make-believe the perturbed rumble of Optimus's chest from Miko's condition.

_Thank you. Was there anything else you needed?_

_Hows Wheeljack?_

_ Comatose._

That was all he sent. Jack felt his brows pucker darkly at the cryptic word. That wasn't telling much, but . . . it certainly made its point clear.

_ Is it really that bad?_

Again, Optimus's text was short and clipped.

_Comatose and critical._

Jack's throat jumped. Optimus's skirting of the subject was bothering him. It had to be much worse if he was refusing to shed light on the situation.

_Optimus I can handle it whats going on?_

This message was long, detailed, and sorrowing. Jack could read the emotion between every word—the anger, grief, frustration, and most of all, disappointment.

_Wheeljack is barely clinging to life; locked in a deep stasis. His main fuel tanks have been punctured, and vital energon lines have been severed. The energon has flooded his breathing cycles and energon levels have dipped into the critical red. His wound is grave—Dreadwing's sword impaled straight through him, and excessively close to the spark. He has fallen into cardiac arrest once already. He teeters on the brink of death . . . is lucky he is alive at all._

Jack felt his gut pitch to his feet. He stared in numb shock at the message that detailed Wheeljack's perilous wound, and the human took a steadying breath, throat bobbing again.

_Okay so what am I supposed to tell Miko?_

_That Ratchet is doing everything in his power to keep Wheeljack online._

_Thats not going to work with Miko and you know it_

There was a pause between their quick messages as Optimus sorted out his thoughts.

_She already knows the wound is grave. She witnessed it happen. There is no need to tell her of every detail for it will only worry her more. Ratchet has not stopped for rest, and he will not rest until he is sure Wheeljack is recovering._

Jack sighed to himself, passing a worried hand over his face.

_All right Ill tell her but—_ Jack's typing faltered—_what am I supposed to say if Wheeljack dies?_

The paused between texts was so long this time that Jack wasn't sure if Optimus was going to answer at all. He eventually felt the phone vibrate in his pocket, and he fished it out to read the short message.

_We will overcome that bridge if it does indeed come._

His heart hurt.

_Keep me posted_

He couldn't imagine Miko losing two guardians, but it seemed like it was a very real possibility for the future. It loomed, and it scared Jack to death. Optimus's message returned with two short words, empathetic and sorrowful.

_Will do._


	15. Comatose Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

**A quick update? :O No way!**

**Seriously though, I suddenly hit a roll last night when I was PPing with a friend (Pirate Pad) and it all suddenly came out, so enjoy the quick update!**

**...Oh. Right. I'm still teasing about Wheeljack's condition ^^**

* * *

><p>Thursday was the day Wheeljack and Miko had confronted Dreadwing.<p>

Today was Friday, and Jack was making a beeline from Miko's house.

He could hear their voices carrying.

"You don't know anything!"

"I know you needlessly put yourself in danger, young lady!"

"You're not my mother, you old witch!"

"Watch your tone! I may not be your mother, but I AM your guardian while you reside in MY house! Do you want me to send you back to Tokyo?"

"Do it then! Just do it! You might as well if I can't be with him!"

Jack mounted on Arcee waiting in the driveway, and they pulled out into the road. "That bad, huh," Arcee stated.

Something in her voice was a little contemptuous. Jack frowned, and reached up one hand to situate his helmet a little better on his head. "Don't talk like that, Arcee. She wants to see him. I mean . . . he is . . . dying . . ."

Arcee made an irritated sound even though she tried not to condemn them. "Look, she knew what she was getting into, Wheeljack too. It's their own fault for going out like that."

Jack scowled beneath his helmet. "Oh, you're one to talk. Like they're any different from you with Airachnid."

The instant the words were out of his mouth, Jack knew it was wrong to say. That thought was reinforced by the fact that Arcee suddenly slammed on her brakes, almost making him flip over the front.

His throat jumped. "Arcee, I—"

"Get off."

Jack immediately did so, her tone icy cold and daring him to talk back. She took off with a squeal of tires on the road, leaving him to walk home.

Jack sighed in irritation at himself and yanked off his helmet. Trudging down the road, madder at himself than Arcee for making him walk, Jack let his mind wander back to Miko yet again.

Her host mom wasn't letting her go visit Wheeljack even while the Wrecker was possibly on his death bed. Turns out, she actually knew about the Autobots—to which Optimus cleared her since she hadn't been in DIRECT contact with them and the Decepticons were currently blind to who she was—and when she realized Wheeljack had taken her directly into danger, Miko following willingly, she was furious. It was a simple mother's protection, but . . . Jack's brows pinched. Wheeljack was all Miko had for the moment. Without him . . .

Jack shook off the dark thought. Wheeljack was too stubborn to give up after fighting so hard.

Trudging down the road, Jack's mind wandered to how he would apologize to Arcee, but even that got distracted by Miko again. He wasn't sure where they stood after that moment in the hospital. Was he supposed to take her on a date? Of course, that was a dumb question, but would Miko go for it? She HAD asked him to kiss her again, so that had to account for something . . . But considering all that had happened . . . Time seemed to be the special ingredient, but that seemed to be all he ever did with her—wait.

Before Jack had the chance to contemplate how to handle Miko in the future, he heard his phone's ringtone. Taking it out, he saw a text from Optimus, and his heart skipped a beat. He flipped it open.

_Wheeljack has fallen into cardiac arrest._

Jack stopped walking in the middle of the road. He almost dropped his phone between numb fingers, and he had to take a deep breath to steady his emotions. All he could think was, _"He's dying, he's dying, he's dying . . ."_

He waited. The next text message was delayed. The wait was excruciatingly long as he gripped his open phone with white knuckles, waiting and waiting for the next text message that would tell if Wheeljack lived or died. Dear God, what would he say to Miko? Foreboding panic slowly began to crawl over his skin as seconds turned to minutes. He stood there in the middle of the sidewalk with stiff shoulders, waiting.

Finally, FINALLY he received another text from Optimus. He opened the message with haste, heart pounding violently in his chest.

_Wheeljack is stabilized. Ratchet is performing scans on the neural waves of his central processor to check for abnormalities or damage._

A heavy breath of relief escaped Jack before he could stop it. Rolling his tense neck to loosen his rigid stance, he flipped his phone shut and put it in his pocket. He shoved both fists into his pockets, looking down at his feet and squeezing his eyes shut.

That was too close. His neck bobbed. It was in moments like these that made him realize exactly how easily the Autobots' lives really were extinguished. He heard the soft rev of a motorcycle engine, and he felt his feet mechanically walk over to Arcee. He leaned on her, hands pressed flat against her seat as he took a deep breath to steel his emotions.

"You okay?"

Her voice was big, but soothing, with a certain degree of motherly tone to it. It reminded him of his own mother when she used to comfort him when he was little and was scared. His lip quirked a little.

"Yeah." The fleeting smile disappeared. "I just . . . really hope Wheeljack can pull through. She . . . Miko needs him."

A soft purr of Arcee's engine for agreement. Jack finally lifted his hung head to stare at Arcee. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

There was a pause. "No, I'm sorry. I was being harsh on them; and they are just like me . . . so instead of getting mad, I should be helping them. Thanks."

A wry smile touched the edges of his mouth. "Thanks."

He felt his phone buzz again. Fishing it out, he read:

_Wheeljack's central processor has been cleared by Ratchet. His neural waves are in full function._

_Thanks for the update_

Putting on his helmet, Jack mounted again and allowed Arcee to pull them away from the curb smoothly. He didn't know whether he was supposed to pray to God or Primus for Wheeljack, so instead, he prayed to both.

* * *

><p><em>A shiver crawled over his systems. Wheeljack's panicked blue optics roved over the area. Something was wrong. Primus, he could feel it rolling in his fuel tanks and in his steady hands that threatened to shake. Where was Miko? Did he dare shout and give away his position, or was he already found out?<em>

_ "Miko!" he bellowed, katanas gripped in vice servos. "Where are you? Babe, are you all right!"_

_ No answer._

_ That foreboding feeling dug deeper in his systems. Quickly ventilating, he felt the sudden sensation of being choked or—no, choking on something. His throat was wet and drowning in something he had to expel, not swallow. Wheeljack coughed and stumbled across dark, indecipherable grounds. Staggering, he felt his shoulder bump against a wall._

_ A wall?_

_ His gaze drew up. The _NEMESIS!_ "Miko!" he shouted out, voice reverberating across the endless halls. "Where are you? Babe, answer me, please!"_

_Still no answer was forthcoming. Dread inched its way into his spark. She was hurt. Oh Primus, if she couldn't answer—where was she? Who had hurt her!_

_ He shuffled across the ground, blasters roving restlessly, choking on the wetness in his throat. A prickling sensation chased up his back struts. Whirling, he aimed his cannons, and red optics glazed in his vision._

_ Wheeljack gave an uncanny yell of fear and was sucked inside._

_ He landed back at the destroyed shipyard. His spark froze. Oh Primus no, not here . . . !_

_ He stiffened, hands tightening on his katanas as he coughed more and more on the wetness in his throat. "Miko? Babe, you here? Please, say something!" Worry crippled him. He staggered, nearly bucking to his knees in pain that overwhelmed his senses. He finally noticed the blue energon he was spitting up, and he shook his head. Not good—internal damage. If he kept going, he was going to die choking on his own energon. He had to stop and at least stop that if—_

_ A piercing scream shattered the air. "WHEELJACK!"_

_ He whirled, forgetting his own peril at the terrified desperation in her voice. "Miko!" He began to run in the direction he had heard her voice. "Miko, I'm coming! Hang tough!"_

_ "WHEELJACK! PLEASE, HELP ME!"_

_ He skidded to a halt, gasping for air he couldn't get with his energon flooding his systems. The black clouds rolled overhead, and he turned around towards where her voice had moved._

_ "Miko! Where are you?"_

_ "PLEASE!" her voice cracked in agony, tears threading through every word. "PLEASE, WHEELJACK! HELP ME! SAVE ME, PLEASE!"_

_ Wheeljack's spark slammed against his chassis, and he turned to find her chained to the shipping crane again; Dreadwing was nowhere in sight._

_ "Hang on!" he shouted at her, and he ran, coughing harshly as the flood of energon in his articulators began to press more and more, threatening his life with every ragged gasp. Pitching to his knees, he grabbed the chains in the effort to crush them in his grip, but Miko, chains and all, disappeared in a wispy smoke._

_ "Miko!"_

_ Wheeljack fell into another fit of disturbing wheezing, choking up thick streams of energon. Falling to his knees, he clutched at his aching, bleeding chassis and burning throat. Panic overtook his sensors—Primus, he couldn't die! Not now, not while she needed him—!_

_ "WHEELJACK!"_

_ Her voice shrieked in naked terror and pain. Wheeljack jerked, using the last of his strength to shove away his sufferings and stumble towards her voice. Primus, please . . ._

_ His plea was unheard._

_ Stifling horror made Wheeljack stagger and fall to his knees and swipe the debris off of her crushed legs. Similarly, Miko was choking, bright red blood spurting from her lips, streaming down her cheeks and neck._

_ A flash of strong, clawed hands beat in his vision before it disappeared, like the flash of lightning before the clap of thunder that made your heart race._

_ A strangled cry of anguish tore from the deepest parts of Wheeljack's soul. "Miko! Oh Primus, please no—Miko—Miko, stay with me, please!"_

_ "You lied to me!" she screamed, the red blood spitting into Wheeljack's face. He recoiled like he had been struck. Pyro's voice warped with hers so broken. "You were never there for me! You failed me, Wheeljack!"_

_ "No!" He reached out, hand cupping her but not touching her for fear of hurting her more. She twitched and quivered in agony, eyes glazing as she glared at him. "Miko, please—p-please, stay with me, please!"_

_ "I hate you!" she screamed, and Wheeljack flinched, his precious Miko dying in the same location as Bulkhead, in the same way as Pyro. "You could never compare to Bulkhead!"_

_ "Miko, please, don't do this!" His voice broke in terrified agony, servos trembling violently as his spark seized. Energon pulsed between his lips._

_ "Rot in hell," she hissed, lips trembling. "You were never good enough."_

_ Wheeljack felt his central processor break down on itself. "MIKO! MIKO, PLEASE—!"_

_ Her eyes glassed over, dead with words as haunting as the grave itself. Wheeljack let out a scream filled with inner agony—_

_ A hand snapped around his neck._

_ Wheeljack choked, lifted all the way off the ground. Bright blue energon leaked from his lips. Fiery red optics blazed at him, dancing with the devil inside them._

_ "You were never as good as me," he hissed. That hand tightened, splintering the cables in his neck. "You couldn't protect Seaspray, you couldn't protect Bulkhead, and you couldn't protect your precious little Miko. You're a failure, and you are obsolete to this life." Red optics darkened to a hellish glint, and Wheeljack jolted in shock and pain. His chassis had been imaled through by Dreadwing's sword the whole time._

_ "Allow me to put you out of your misery, once and for all."_

_ Wheeljack felt his breath start jerking back and forth in his lungs as if it were something the 'Con was stabbing him with again and again with no tenderness. A noisy sorrowful wailing rose all about him, and he was locked inside it the way he was locked inside this purgatory. His wounds cried for the grave; his soul cried for deliverance._

Miko . . . will you be there for me . . . on the other side . . . ? Or will you forget me?

_ The energon stained his optics sticky blue, metal shrieked violently against metal, and there was pain, oh Primus, pain all around; it was a suffering agony that tore its way through his circuits, a burning sensation that devoured his protoform, an insatiable beast clawing its way into his spark. Hellish red optics glinted._

* * *

><p>Wheeljack surfaced from his stasis with an energon-curdling scream. He writhed on the medical berth, optics snapping open and glazed over in panic.<p>

"Oh Primus—Miko! MIKO!"

"Wheeljack, calm down!"

The order smacked against his audio receptors, and Wheeljack felt himself pushed back against the berth by the medic's hands. Adrenaline and terror fueled him.

"Where is she? Miko, Miko, where is she—Primus, please—!"

"Stop it!" Ratchet bellowed at him, shaking him. "She's fine! She's alive, Wheeljack! She's safe! Miko's safe! She's alive! Now calm down this instant!"

Wheeljack began to gasp in the effort to mask his horror, bright optics dancing wildly as he gripped the medical officer's arm tightly.

"She's okay?" he said haltingly, trembling. "Is she all right? Where is she? Please—"

"I said she was perfectly fine," Ratchet snapped, another shake bringing Wheeljack away from the past and to the present. "She's at home. She's with her host parents, and they're taking good care of her. You are the one currently on the brink of death, and the stress levels you have are not helping your case any. You need to CALM DOWN."

Wheeljack shuddered, squeezing his optics shut. Thin cycles of air rattled through his systems, and as he came fully online, he became acutely aware of the searing pain pulsing through his chest with every spark beat.

"I'm sorry," he rasped. His spark ached low with every instant he was alive and didn't deserve to be. "I'm so sorry, Miko . . ."

"She's alive and safe, and if you stay alive, you have nothing to apologize for," Ratchet replied brusquely. When Wheeljack started to let himself drift back into a stasis, a hand slapped his face awake. "Wheeljack! I need you to stay coherent as long as possible." There was shuffling, and Wheeljack felt his head propped on an arm and something press against his lips. "Drink."

He scowled, unwilling, but a sharp rap on his head made him groan—even the slightest things were excruciatingly painful. "Wheeljack, this is no time to be stubborn. Drink, if not for your sake, for Miko's."

Wheeljack drew in a ragged breath, shuddering once more before sucking it up and drinking the energon proffered. It stung on the way down, and he gagged horribly, fuel tanks rolling uncomfortably. He felt stasis begin to drag him back down, before he had managed to drink much, and Ratchet continued to plague him to drink more.

Finally, the medic sensed his will to stay awake was fading. Wheeljack felt his head lied back down on the berth, and a soft moan of guilt strangled up from his articulators.

"Miko . . ."


	16. High Grade Induced Dementia

Blue optics opened. A steady beeping filled the missile silo, and his chest ached low. He groaned.

"Wheeljack? How are you feeling?"

Wheeljack shifted his optics over to Ratchet who was scanning him again, double checking his status even before he answered.

"Like slag."

His glossia felt a little thick, like it was having troubles working with his articulators. His throat was still raw, most likely from the screaming and the choking. His central processor throbbed. His systems felt sluggish and slow as they struggled to recalibrate to their full capacity. Experimentally, Wheeljack flexed his hands and drew them into fists.

Ratchet made a perturbed sound in the back of his throat. "Hm, well yes, considering what slag you put yourself through, it's no wonder you feel like that."

A tired scowl came to Wheeljack's face. Pushing himself into a sitting position and pulling off the instruments attached to him, Ratchet arching a warning brow at him. Wheeljack felt the strain it took for that simple motion. "I don't need your slag either," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. He winced at the slight movement that made to his chassis, causing spikes of pain to jab through him.

Ratchet harrumphed. "I only _wish_ I could give you as much slag as I want to, but I'm afraid that isn't reserved for me."

_Slag._

Wheeljack lifted his head, hearing the heavy steps of the Prime coming towards him. When he locked eyes with him, the giant bot was an enthralling combination of sadness, frustration, and fury.

Wheeljack held up a hand, cracking his aching neck. "Look, I know what you're going to say—"

"Obviously you may hear me, Wheeljack," Optimus cut in strictly, "but you do not heed me."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics at the stolid leader. "Look, I know it was wrong—"

"And yet you continue to persist in this mindless pursuit for revenge and in the process, place both yourself and the human under my protection in danger."

Wheeljack's eyes flashed. "She's under MY protection too," Wheeljack snarled, spark rate beginning to pick up with his anger. Each harder beat hurt more.

"You are yet still an insurgent and a rebellious soldier that is not under my command," Optimus said flatly, optics narrowing the fraction of an inch at the Wrecker. "You willingly take Miko into dangerous situations; you blatantly disregard my orders to keep her safe; you give her a grenade; you—"

"For protection!" Wheeljack barked, hands fisting tightly. "If Dreadwing got close to her, I wanted her to be able to at least do something instead of getting snatched away!"

"That is not what I gather from your expedition seven days ago when you took Miko with you on a quest for revenge."

The harsh words slapped across Wheeljack's audio receptors. Grinding his jaw tightly, Wheeljack turned his face away, muttering, "Look, I know you're mad—"

"You misunderstand me," Optimus interrupted severely. "I am not mad at you—'' and his voice dripped to a threatening growl, "I am LIVID."

A prickle of unrest crawled over Wheeljack's arms, and he chided himself, telling himself that he had faced even the brunt of Ultra Magnus's temper—which was frightening. The Prime was soft. He could handle anything this measly Prime could dish out.

Optimus continued, voice fuming with a muffled rage. "Two broken ribs and a concussion." Wheeljack flinched, eyes widening and staring in shock at him. She . . . she had two broken ribs? And a concussion? His spark throbbed in pain, crunching beneath the weight of his guilt. Optimus continued, unrelenting.

"These are the wounds she bears because of your folly. The _least_ of the injuries she could have received—Dreadwing could have easily crushed her, and if not for his uncanny sense of honor, Miko would be dead." Wheeljack cringed again. It bit to know that she was alive because of DREADWING. "You made the promise to keep her safe from all harm, Wheeljack, and you have not kept that promise." His unspoken word _failure_ lashed in Wheeljack's spark. "I can no longer put my trust in you to keep her safe. She will remain in the care of another Autobot."

Wheeljack's optics darkened to seething. "Like the pit you will! Have you already forgotten about Bulkhead, Prime?" Wheeljack made a ferocious gesture. "She needs me!"

"She does not NEED you," Optimus corrected callously, "but she WANTS you." A flash of regret passed over his optics, putting a damper on his fury. "As much she may not like it, her wants and needs are different. If I do not tend to her need of a safe guardian, she will not have any wants TO want for." Wheeljack winced again. "And that call is not mine alone to make. Mrs. Davis has stated explicitly that she does not wish Miko to be in contact with you."

Wheeljack jerked then, his words hitting like a cold splash of water on the flame of his anger. Mrs. . . . Davis? She . . . His aching spark bled. But—that couldn't be! She—she was the one that had given him at least a shred of hope, the confidence boost he had needed . . .

"Mrs. Davis?" he finally rasped.

The Prime's optics darkened minutely. "Mrs. Davis placed the same trust in you that I had—to keep Miko safe, happy. Instead, you twisted her support of you into revenge, and you stabbed us all in the back—and received that stab of karma through Dreadwing's blade."

Wheeljack felt his hands slake limp in horror. Head craning up to see Optimus's face, he suddenly felt small—insignificant. Obsolete. He took a shuddering breath and accessed his communicator, realizing he owed someone an apology.

She picked up, and he heard her professional voice say into the phone, _"Hello?"_

Her amicable voice cut daggers across his spark. He vented heavily, freshly healing wound pulsing in set time. He wet his lips before speaking.

"Mrs. Davis," he started in quietly, "I'm sorry."

There was a beat of silence. Then, he faintly heard shuffling. He heard a door shut. More shuffling. Another door, and finally, _"So NOW you're sorry?"_

Wheeljack flinched. "Mrs. Davis, please, I—"

_"NOW you're sorry,"_ she repeated quietly, voice cutting as much as Dreadwing's blade had. _"After what you put her through—me through—and you have the gall to come back and say, 'I'm sorry' like it's going to change what happened."_

Wheeljack felt his hands clench and release nervously for the human he truly desired respect from. "The gall, or guilt?"

_"It wouldn't surprise me if you did feel guilty_," she said stiffly, streams of pain underlying her voice. _"You told me you were going to protect Miko from Dreadwing, not take her with you while you go hunting him!"_

Wheeljack swallowed his Wrecker pride, for once letting his shoulders slump with burning regret. "I know."

_"I trusted you!"_ she cried in disbelief. _"I don't know why I didn't just trust my instincts—I knew with one look that you were trouble, but did I listen to myself? No. I let myself believe that you were better than that, and now look at the damage it's caused!"_

His hands curled into fists again. He stifled the emotion trying to rise in his chest. "I know," he repeated quietly, submissively.

She continued her enraged rant, Wheeljack almost completely oblivious to Ratchet and Optimus listening to his side of the conversation. _"She broke two ribs, Wheeljack! Two ribs and a concussion! Do you know how worried I was? She could have gotten killed! What were you thinking?"_

"I wasn't."

_"Of course you weren't! It was stupid, and irresponsible! I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to be around her anymore. I can't trust you to keep her safe after you pulled a stunt like this."_

Wheeljack finally felt something inside him snap. "You think I don't know that?" he shouted into the communicator with sudden vehemence. "You think I didn't FEEL that when Dreadwing sank his blade in my spark chamber? I already told you I wasn't good enough! You trusted me and I let you down because my best isn't good enough! I DON'T have the strength to resist the lust for Dreadwing's energon, I DON'T have the strength to beat him in battle, I don't even have the strength to comfort Miko enough that she can finally let go of Bulkhead! I've been a failure all my life, Mrs. Davis, and it isn't about to change now!"

Shocked silence spilled from the other end of the line, eerie after his enraged outburst. "I don't know why I let myself believe different," he hissed back at her, so eaten up with guilt he could barely see straight. "I AM a failure, and it will never change. My best was NEVER good enough for Miko. I might as well have died at Dreadwing's mercy."

Cutting the call short, Wheeljack spun on his heel and strode from the silo, ignoring Optimus's concerned gaze and Ratchet's shouts that he wasn't well enough to go out on his own. His servo clutched his throbbing chest, wondering if his spark was hurting more from the physical wound or an affliction that resembled spark break.

* * *

><p>Wheeljack swirled the energon lazily, optics glazed.<p>

Sequestered in his recharge room, Wheeljack sat on the floor at the foot of his berth, numerous empty cubes of energon already downed. His circuits were on fire, and he knew high grade wasn't good for his recovering spark and wound, but he didn't care.

Taking another heavy drink from the high grade, Wheeljack let his mind rove over the past events and contemplate it all. In short, no one was pleased with him—in fact, they all considered him uncouth and unfit to be Miko's guardian. Maybe he was; after all, he had nearly gotten her killed and himself, and Dreadwing would always best him. She needed someone better, and Wheeljack wasn't that bot.

A perturbed growl caught in Wheeljack's articulators. Where did this leave him? He considered his options. He could go bust up some Decepticon energon mines, but to what end, and what did it matter? He served no purpose anymore—he was obsolete. He didn't have the skill to protect anyone, he couldn't find his imagination for inventions, and he was shunned by the Autobots, sworn enemy of the Decepticons, and forsaken by humans of their ignorance. He fit nowhere. Death would be so much easier, and what he longed for.

With a soft vent of air, Wheeljack continued his brooding with another draught of high grade. That was the difficult part. There were so many ways to die. He could hand himself over to the Decepticons; he could let Dreadwing kill him; he could pick a fight with Megatron; he could invent the world's biggest explosive with his uncanny way of making things explode in the middle of testing—they wouldn't find a trace of him. The Jackhammer could crash horrifically; he could let himself lose enough energy so that he eventually locked into stasis and offlined; he could pilot to the arctic and freeze; he could undo Ratchet's work on his chest; he could slit his main energon lines and leak to death; he could blow himself up.

He grumbled to himself, approving. Yes, that was what he would do. Right outside of the Autobot base so they could see what they did to him. A big explosion with the most flamboyant fireworks that would make the Pit shake when it realized what Wrecker it had to deal with.

The problem: Miko. She screwed it all up. He couldn't kill himself while she was living. He couldn't let her die while he lived. And so the unending circle went. He couldn't knowingly kill himself and bear the thought of hurting her and devastating her. He would kill her if he died. She couldn't lose two guardians, the shock would be too much—he had a feeling she would do something drastic. Like kill herself.

He vented again in irritation. Casting a baleful glare down at his drink, Wheeljack saw himself in the reflection. What a pathetic mech.

And so, here he sat, getting drunk as a mother for the hell of it. He tried to drown his pain with the mind-slowing drugs of the alcohol, but it did nothing—rather, it seemed to heighten his anguish. LONELY anguish. He hated that he had grown to care for, NEED the human so much. He despised her—cursed her for casting her wicked spell on him and rued the day he had ever become involved with her. Of course, that was Optimus's fault. That devious Prime had tricked him into meeting her, and now he was paying the consequences.

Wheeljack growled darkly, hand crunching the cube he held. The Prime had been out to get him from the start. He had orchestrated his sufferings from the beginning. Fury rose. He drowned that in his drink too, downing the twisted cube before picking up yet another.

So, he couldn't die because he couldn't crush Miko's heart. But he didn't deserve to live for all his failures, and indeed didn't have the will to live. He took another drink, cursing the high grade for failing to intoxicate him past the pain. He was left with nothing.

Through his alcohol induced dementia, Wheeljack heard footsteps—only because the noise stuck out to his now highly sensitive audio receptors. He grumbled dangerously, like a bear woken from hibernation—who was on his ship, and what did they want? One step into his den, and he'd find a way to rip them apart.

When the steps stopped in the doorway to his berth room, Wheeljack lifted spiteful optics to the one who disturbed him.

Instead, he was surprised to see a very put off Arcee.

He didn't dwell on it. He stayed hunkered down and cast his optics listlessly towards the opposite wall. "Get out," he rumbled with distaste.

He heard a scoff before she was suddenly right in front of him. She knocked his newest grade of high grade from his servo, spilling it all over the floor, and before he could berate her, both of her hands grabbed his shoulders and pinned him to the wall with stunning ferocity.

"You are so pathetic."

Wheeljack glared balefully at her. Tell him something he didn't know. "Get out," he hissed back. He started to push her off of him, but she merely slammed him into the wall again, causing his helm to crack against the wall. He groaned in pain.

"Pull yourself together," she snapped, making him cringe at the volume of her tone. "You're admitting defeat so quickly? You're giving up on Miko?"

His jaw ground. "I'm not giving up on anyone," he muttered. He dropped his optics. "Everyone has given up on me."

Arcee applied more pressure to him, moving closer as she said, "Yes you are. You've given up. You don't care about anything, do you?"

Wheeljack didn't answer, but instead let hazy optics take in how close she was to him, and the rage that fueled her body. Her body. Wheeljack scoffed at himself even as his optics roved over her curves. How come it had taken him drunk off of high grade to realize exactly how beautiful this femme was?

His head cracked against the wall again, and he shouted in anger, meeting her spiteful gaze with his own. Against his will, he found her optics stunning with their crackling fury. "Get your central processor out of the gutter," she sneered. "I'm here to whip you back into shape, not for your horny imagination."

Wheeljack scowled, and her hands tightened until he was sure she was going to damage him. "I'm not about to let you just give up on Miko like this. She needs you, and you're just leaving her hanging. I don't care WHAT that short-circuited motherboard of yours is thinking but you do NOT give up on your partner. Not if you're hurt; not if you're incapacitated; not if you just want to; not even if you're dead! Not now and not EVER do you give up on a partner like this!"

Wheeljack snapped a servo around her waist, her small size easily dwarfed by him. "Don't you patronize me," he snarled, internal systems revving dangerously.

She didn't even flinch at his anger. "You are currently incapacitated with high grade—you're systems are so drugged up and slow that you pose no threat to me." When Wheeljack could only leer at her darkly, she pressed with, "So what's your problem? Miko needs you."

He scoffed. "Optimus and Mrs. Davis seem to think otherwise."

"And since when has what others said ever stopped you?" Arcee persisted.

"Because they're right!" he growled, hand tightening on her waist. He dragged her closer, the stench of high grade stinging Arcee's nasal sensors they were so close. "I'm NOT good enough for her! Unlike some pampered femmes around here, I've suffered the loss of two partners, and I couldn't keep either of them alive!"

Arcee's optics suddenly darkened. "You think you're the only one who's lost partners?" she hissed furiously. She nearly quaked with passion. "I've lost two partners as well!" she snapped. Wheeljack felt his optics widen in shock—her? "One, in the torture chambers, another because I was too slow to get to him in time to help. So don't you DARE tell me I don't know what it's like to lose a partner!"

Her voiced cracked with emotion. Stunned, Wheeljack couldn't think of a retort. He didn't know whether to account it to the high grade slowing the cogs of his mind or how breathtaking Arcee was in her outrage.

"But no matter what, have you ever seen me give up?" She shook him again, jolting his mind away from the dip of her waist plates and up to her piercing optics. "Have you EVER seen me give up on Jack just because I was having a hell of a day? Or anyone for that matter! But you just take defeat like a second-hand processing chip! Get it through that thick skull of yours, Wheeljack, you have to keep fighting no matter what! If you need to be with Miko, then by PRIMUS you get your pathetic aft up and GO GET HER regardless of what anyone says!"

For a moment, Arcee thought she had gotten through to him. But, he merely looked away, muttering bitterly, "Why even? I'll just fail her again."

Arcee stared a moment in disbelief before jerking to her feet. "Fine," she snapped. "Stay here and rust for all I care." She turned and stalked to the doorway before she halted, servos clenched into tight fists. Just when Wheeljack thought he had gotten rid of her, she took a deep in cycle and turned back. When Wheeljack reached for another cube of high grade, she slapped his hand away and slammed him against the wall. Repeating the process, his sensitive helm cracked against the wall, making him cringe in pain.

"Fragging glitch!"

She slapped him.

The clang of metal on metal rang in the room, and she actually garnered his attention because he was too stunned to think.

"So you think you're a failure," Arcee muttered, striking optics squinting with careful thought. "Do you want to know what measures a mech?"

"I don't give a frag."

"Well then give a damn," she sneered, servos tightening. She leaned forward until she was in his face. "How you measure a mech: when his world begins to fall, you see how tall he stands—or how low, in your case." Wheeljack fixated a venomous scowl at her, but she ignored it and shook him. "Wheeljack, it's not how many times you fall, it's how many times you GET BACK UP. If you can persevere in the face of your failings, that's the mark of a true mech." When Wheeljack just looked away, she grabbed his large audio receptors. Wheeljack cringed in pain when he felt her claws gripping the hot spot just a bit TOO tight for his comfort.

"Mistakes build character," she whispered, optics dilating inches away from his. Those blue and purple optics filled his vision. "And character—" she faltered a moment before she rasped passionately, "character takes you places revenge never will."

Her stunning optics danced with a hidden desire, a hope that Wheeljack could understand what she couldn't. However, she was in for crushing disappointment when he just looked to the floor, unbelieving.

Arcee scowled furiously. Let him rust. She jerked to her feet, shoving him back against the wall again. "Fine! Drink yourself into a stupor—if you're just going to sit there and pity yourself to death, then you DON'T deserve to be around Miko." Wheeljack's optics followed her out, her angry gait that still managed to look sexy from the slow-slung armor around her hips. When she was gone, he merely reached for another cube of high grade and swirled the liquid again.

Pity himself to death. That was an interesting option. Was it possible? He gave a perturbed grunt to himself, weighing the option against blowing himself up in a grand show of explosives. Nah. Detonation was way better.

His spark pulsed painfully. Maybe he could drink himself to death. His spark sure acted like it was going to give out at any minute. Then again, he still wasn't sure if his spark hurt so much from the wound or missing Miko. Maybe it was all in his mind. Maybe he could just WILL himself to die. Wouldn't that be interesting?

He wallowed in self-pity and drank until he passed out.


	17. Broken

Wheeljack groaned awake—and cringed at the bright lights.

He never fragging kept the lights on this high on the Jackhammer!

It took him a matter of two nanoclicks longer to realize he wasn't ON the Jackhammer.

Scowling and grunting in irritation, lights irritating his now extremely sensitive optics, Wheeljack started to sit up before he felt a firm hand push him none-too-gently to the medical berth.

"If you try to get up I swear upon the All Spark I WILL chain you there and weld your aft down."

Scowling, Wheeljack said thinly, "Don't be so melodramatic, Doc."

"Oh, you're one to talk," he snarled back just as angrily. He came to stand towering over Wheeljack with crossed arms. "Says the melodramatic one that almost drank himself into a permanent stasis last night."

Wheeljack gave a careless shrug. "It wouldn't have been so bad . . ."

A sharp whack to the helm made him yell in excruciating pain because his hangover was probably the worst he had had yet. "Primus, Doc, lay off!"

"Then pull yourself together and quit calling me Doc!"

Now irrefutably seething, Wheeljack checked his chronometer. It read . . . wait, a little after seven? The NEXT DAY seven? He'd been passed out for a full day. No wonder Ratchet was furious. What day did that make this . . . ?

"Where's the Prime?" Wheeljack said, narrowing his eyes at the empty silo.

"He went to take Miko to school," Ratchet muttered, "since I have to baby sit you."

"Wax yourself with a power-grinder." So the great PRIME gets to take over his duties. Wheeljack inwardly fumed. He'd get that Prime yet.

Surprisingly, he heard Ratchet shoot back, "Go frag yourself with an electromagnet."

No Prime to tell them to stop otherwise. "Reformat yourself with a lug-wrench, virus-infected mother-fragger."

"Get recycled, you rusting piece of Pit-spawn."

"Jump in a smelter, microchip moron—"

"Scrap heap reject—"

"Medic burnout—"

"Slag for brains knockoff—"

And other such insults. The flamboyant and imaginative slander didn't stop until Optimus returned after a rough morning with Miko.

* * *

><p>Miko stomped down the road, so frustrated and angry and sad at the same time that she couldn't speak and almost couldn't keep herself from crying.<p>

School. She had to go back after everything that happened. On a Friday, no less! It had only been nine days since Wheeljack had been stabbed by Dreadwing, and she still hadn't been able to even call him. After a week of utterly bitching to her host mother and father that she didn't want to do anything, didn't want to go anywhere, they forced her to go back to school. She pulled her new rolling backpack behind her because Mrs. Davis didn't want her carrying her backpack with broken ribs. She still carried her guitar, though. She'd sooner have her ribs fall out than leave her guitar behind.

However, what was bothering her so much was currently rolling patiently next to her, hulking red and blue.

"Miko . . ."

"I'm not riding ANYWHERE with you!" she shouted, for once uncaring of her tone towards the great Prime. Her ribs were killing her—she hoped the pain killers would kick in soon.

Stalking angrily down the sidewalk, Miko made it a point to be as aloof from Optimus as possible. After all, he was a part of this ridiculous scheme to keep her away from Wheeljack.

"Miko, please. You don't need to be carrying that all the way to school. If you will not let me drive you, at least allow me to transport your guitar."

"No!" she snapped, steadfastly booking a walk down the path. "Leave me alone!"

It astounded her, his patience did. If she was as big and powerful as Optimus was, she would have squished her beneath her foot out of sheer spite at this point. "Miko, please, understand. Your mother and I are merely concerned about your well-being."

"You don't know what's best for me, so stop being a presumptuous jack-ass!" Enraged beyond thought, Miko whirled and kicked the side of the truck, and the instant she did, she felt herself blanch of color.

She had kicked Optimus Prime.

Then, she was irate again, and she began to stomp off again. Well, good! He deserved it! She felt her jaw tick she clenched her teeth so tightly, and she could hear Wheeljack's voice like an annoying little conscience in her mind telling her to watch her mouth.

"We're trying to protect you."

"Good lot you're doing of that."

Fuming, Miko tromped along through the subdivision, a huge Peterbilt truck following her with worry. "Miko, please, try to understand—"

"No, you understand!" Miko whirled around and threw her bags to the ground, irate red splotching her cheeks. "I am NOT a freaking china doll! Wheeljack at least was willing to give me a CHANCE to be USEFUL for once! HE doesn't baby me, or treat me like I'm just in the way and can't do things for myself! He actually saw that I'm WORTH something and not just left standing there while everyone runs headlong into danger!"

Her jaw ground so tightly she thought she'd grind them to dust. Her voice hitched on the last part as she thought of Bulkhead and Wheeljack. She shook her head, fighting the tears back for nothing but rage. "You think I don't know what could happen? You don't think I know after I lost Bulkhead? I KNOW, Optimus! I know!" She roughly brushed away the rising wetness. "I was willing to take the risks, but everyone says I shouldn't! But Jack gets to go to freaking CYBERTRON and save your aft! Even stupid little Raf who's nothing but a baby gets to take down space bridges! But what do _I_ DO? Just stand there and get told to be quiet and stay out of the way!"

Miko sucked in a harsh breath, trying to control her torrent of emotions so she wouldn't breathe so hard and strain her ribs. "So what is it?" she accused him. "How come you can give Jack the key to Vector Sigma and put him in danger but Wheeljack can't give me a grenade to protect myself if he can't? Is it because I'm a girl? A stupid, filthy, pathetic, disappointment of a girl? I'm not good enough for you, am I! Of course I'm not! That's how it's always been! I've always been the failure, haven't I? Just a mistake!" Her voice cracked. Tears blurred. "That's why he sent for an American boy, wasn't it? It didn't matter that he wasn't Asian, just as long as he was a boy!" Her heart hurt immensely, and she rubbed uselessly, wondering why it felt like she was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Roughly brushing her face, Miko picked up her stuff and stalked off again, stolidly refusing to show Optimus her tears.

_I'm strong. I won't cry. Wheeljack was proud of me for not showing my weakness. My tears. And I won't. I won't cry._

Optimus took in her hateful words in silence, realizing that there was much more to this than Miko had initially let on. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it had to be something dealing with her being a girl? Did she think Jack and Raf were better because they were boys? It was a baffling thought to Optimus, but he realized that now was the least of times to ask her about it. Instead, a heavy, defeated sigh decompressed from the truck. "Miko, please. You are only going to damage your healing body more. Please allow me to take you to school."

She felt herself at wits end with it all. "If it will get you off my back, fine!"

The huge truck rolled to a stop, and Miko yanked open the door, painfully hauling up her bag and her guitar before stepping up and sitting in the passenger seat. She strapped in and silently glared out the window.

To Optimus's good graces, he at least didn't speak to her again during her sullen ride to the school. When they pulled up to the curb, Miko flung the door open roughly again, throwing her backpack carelessly to the ground, her guitar following with more care. As she got out, he finally said quietly, "Miko . . . I just don't want you getting hurt."

A spurt of furious red heat filled her cheeks. "Being away from Wheeljack hurts a lot more than the ribs do."

She slammed his door with as much force as she could muster, making numerous heads draw over and her ribs to scream in protest, but it was well worth Optimus's silence. She had bested him. Gathering her things, Miko seethed at the Prime and her host mom as she stalked off without once looking back at the guilty Autobot.

* * *

><p>On the following Tuesday, Wheeljack had finally, FINALLY managed to persuade Ratchet to let him finally have a moment to himself in the washracks.<p>

He turned on the numerous jets around the spacious chambers, setting them all on the hardest, most narrow, most precise and painful spray level he could. The unbearable heat he kept it at steamed the room quickly.

He scrubbed himself quickly and viciously. He didn't know why. All he knew was that his spark was killing him, and there wasn't a remedy in the book that was helping. He vented his frustrations on himself, cleaning himself as best he could, scrubbing the bristle brush between the nooks of his armor until he couldn't reach his back. Should have grabbed his special brush he invented for that purpose. Wheeljack brushed the thought off his shoulder and stood in the showers. Against his will, he began to brood again.

He seemed to do that much more than he wanted. Letting the water jets pummel him mercilessly, Wheeljack's central processor could only return to Miko. By Primus he missed her . . .

The steam rose thickly, coating the room in a humid white cloud. If he had been able to shed lubricant, the haze would have concealed it, but Wheeljack just stood there, unable to cry, unable to rant, unable to do anything. He couldn't even fall to his knees and just curl up miserably on the floor. Deadened to the pain now, he had just enough irony to snort. Now he gets the results he wanted from the high grade.

Loneliness. That was what it was. And it consumed him from the inside out. An ocean of loneliness that he was lost in, and all he wanted was Miko. Yet, forbidden to see her. Why not just go off and see her? Sure, he'd get in heaps of trouble with the Prime, but what held him back was that he didn't want to get Miko in trouble with her host parents. Worst thing he needed was getting her sent back to Tokyo against her will.

He wanted to groan, to let out some type of sound or action to release the pent up desolation he carried, but Wheeljack could only silently carry his mourning. It was like the Plague. Wheeljack had never felt something so . . . _draining_ before in his life. It felt like all of his strength had been drawn from within by this malady, a type of burden he bore on his back for an eternity.

He was made to be lonely. To just sit and cry himself to sleep, to miss a special someone he'd do anything for, but he was denied even that—Primus slag him to Pit, where were the tears? He'd shed lubricant before in his life, so where was it now?

His body ached with the pressure of solitude. He resisted the urge to listen to her speed metal just to pass the time—it would only haunt him more, like a lingering presence that kept begging him to come back to her. His emptiness devoured himself.

*Um . . . I, uh, didn't know you were here . . . um . . . Mind if I join?*

Wheeljack opened his optics and saw Bumblebee hesitating uncertainly at the entrance of the washracks door. He gave a vague shrug, and the scout gave a quiet coo before entering. The fates mocked him—now, he was not alone but was still lonely. Bumblebee eyed Wheeljack's gloomy glower getting pounded by the water jets, and he suggested shyly, *Um . . . want me to get your back?*

Wheeljack's mind finally pulled away from his woes for a fleeting moment. It had been a long time since his back had gotten cleaned thoroughly. Even the special brush he had invented so he could clean his back couldn't compare to a bot scrubbing him.

"Sure," he finally muttered.

Bumblebee obediently grabbed the bristle brush and came into the showers with him, wincing a little at the force at which the jets sprayed the water on him. Not as numb to the pain as Wheeljack was, Bumblebee adjusted the jet head of the one directly on his back to a wider, softer spray before beginning to scrub Wheeljack's back.

*So, um . . . Are you okay?*

"Fine," Wheeljack said in a clipped tone. Rubble dislodged from a painful joint in his back, relaxing him even before he realized the little pebbles were bothering him.

Bumblebee shrank a moment before mumbling, *Well, if _I_ couldn't be with Raf, I certainly wouldn't be . . .*

"Shut it, bug."

The scout didn't speak again, hurt by the rebuke. More dirt and rocks were scrubbed clean of Wheeljack in the silence, and Bumblebee finally ventured, *Are you going to be done after I'm finished here?*

"That eager to get rid of me?" Wheeljack mused with a bite to his voice. Of course. Abandoned and forsaken by them all.

*No* Bumblebee paused a moment, the coarse brush stilling before he rubbed beneath one of Wheeljack's miniature wings. *Optimus was going to join me, and I just didn't think you'd want to see him*

That, at least, he got right. Wheeljack felt a tired sigh vent from his systems. Of course—he should have known better. Cybertronians didn't shower alone because they couldn't reach every part of themselves due to their large and bulky forms. Bathing was a communal event. Optimus and Bumblebee were going to help each other get the places they couldn't reach.

Wheeljack stiffened and jerked, hissing in pain when Bumblebee scrubbed over the tender wound in his back that matched the front. The brush jumped away immediately, and Bumblebee burst, *I'm sorry!*

The Wrecker scowled, gripping his servos into fists. "It's my own fault," he muttered darkly.

He wasn't sure Bumblebee was talking about the incident with Dreadwing or the initial hurting him with the brush when he spoke next. *No, it wasn't your fault—* he started to plead.

Wheeljack whirled on the yellow bot, optics flashing dangerously. "Well then you'd be the first to actually give a damn about me!" he snarled before stalking off to the air jets to dry off. He wasn't sure why he rejected the affectionate scout. Maybe he just didn't want any false hopes like before.

Pensive, Wheeljack gripped tight servos to his hips, back stiff and wings perked with anger. Did they honestly think that they could keep Miko away from him? Forever? It was ridiculous even in his own mind.

He began to despise them all. Arcee, Bumblebee, Jack, and Raf, all because they could be together and he and Miko couldn't. He hated Ratchet because he wasn't helping his agony as a medic, but rather wanted them separate. He hated Optimus because the arrogant Prime seemed to think he could rule over everyone's life and forbid him to be with her, no matter how miserable it made them. He especially hated Mrs. Davis—for denying Miko to see him while he was on his death bed, for refusing to let them see each other, for giving him false hopes that he was better than he really was.

Wheeljack's fuming brooding was interrupted only by Optimus's heavy footfalls. If at all possible, the Wrecker tensed more, coiling up for the strike. Instead, he merely felt optics on him before the Prime chose not to say anything and instead joined Bumblebee under the jets.

"How are you, Bumblebee?"

*I'm okay* the little scout chirped back, albeit, more reserved.

"How is Rafael?"

Wheeljack heard the scout's voice perk up considerably with just the mention of his human charge. *He's doing good* he said quickly. *We're getting a new racing game soon! He's worked hard on his chores and grades, so his allowance has been good. We've been debating on which one to get . . .*

Bumblebee prattled on cheerfully about something so negligent to the Prime who listened avidly. Wheeljack scowled, turning sharply on his heel and striding from the washracks even before he was dry, not giving flying frag if he dripped all over the silo. Bumblebee's voice stopped guiltily when Wheeljack stalked out.

He couldn't take another second of this. Bumblebee and Optimus moved on like they hadn't had their life shattered and obviously couldn't give a damn if his had fallen apart. He SEETHED with jealously that Bumblebee and Raf had it so good. He trembled in rage at the world, and the pain echoed in haunting, lonely harmony through his chassis in a wound that refused to heal.

* * *

><p>Miko lied on her bed, glaring at the ceiling as if somehow it was what deserved the brunt of her pain.<p>

Headphones blaring, alone in her own zone, Miko's fingers unconsciously plucked the strings and mirrored the chords of the dark song. It suited her after living her life as alone as possible. She didn't even let Jack around her. She just wanted to drown in the music and never surface because it was the only thing that understood.

Sure, Jack meant well, but he didn't understand being forcefully separated from your guardian, the closest one she could rely on and share herself with. He got to see Arcee every day—Miko relied on Wheeljack as her closest friend, confidant, and partner to fill the places no one else could, and now, that had been stripped away. Besides, it wasn't even Jack's fault—his name just hurt so much to be reminded of Jackie every time she went to greet him.

Filled with sudden anger, Miko flung one of her pillows across the room. It knocked the picture of Chi-Chi and Ding-Dong off her desk along with a piano competition trophy.

Mrs. Davis had been lucky to get her to go to school the other Friday—which only resulted in a detention. Come the weekend, Miko had holed up in her room like a bear in her den—vicious if disturbed, and eerily quit when left alone. She drowned in her music and seethed at the world, mostly Optimus and her host parents—it sucked riding with Optimus to school. She missed Wheeljack so bad her chest hurt.

Getting her to go to school Monday had been difficult enough, but she did. And Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday. Each ended with a detention. Today was Thursday—two weeks since their escapade against Dreadwing.

Now, Mrs. Davis had a furious and conniving human plotting to get out to where she wanted to go.

Miko finally got up and slung off her headphones. Grabbing her phone and her guitar, Miko plucked the strings to the song that had made her cry so much these past weeks because it reminded her so much of Wheeljack. It was their own personal anthem, after all. At least, that was what Miko believed. She called Bumblebee.

He picked up with a warbled coo, apparent to even Miko as a question. "Bee?" she asked. She didn't wait for his answer because she knew it would be futile—she couldn't understand him anyways. "I miss Wheeljack. I want to see him."

The scout gave a timid few beeps, and reading into their tone, Miko heard his hesitation. "C'mon, Bee, please?" Her fingers stilled on the guitar strings. "I just . . . want to see him." When Bumblebee started to interrupt with more whirring, she said quickly, "Look, I know I'm not supposed to, but wouldn't you be willing to break the rules just once to see Raf?" She tried not to smile smugly to herself when Bumblebee's coo dipped to that low register when he felt guilty or sad. "Please? Just this once? Beep once for no, twice for yes."

There was a beat of silence, and then two little resigned beeps.

Still, even though she was proud for swindling Bumblebee into taking her, she almost felt grateful tears prick her eyes—she was going to go see Wheeljack! "Thanks 'Bee," she said gratefully. "You'll come by in ten?" She didn't live that far from Raf.

Two more beeps for confirmation, and they hung up. Miko took a deep breath before rubbing her forehead. Packing up her guitar, she took it along with her math book and a pencil. She stuffed some clean sheets of paper in between the book pages for good measure and threw her calculator in with the mix. Finding a smaller bag, she put the items in there for cover and took it along with her guitar.

As she passed the living room, she was stopped by her host mom. "Where are you going?"

Miko scowled. "To Raf's."

Mrs. Davis frowned back at her accusing tone and asked, "Raf? To do what?"

She held up the bag as if it were obvious. "To get help on my math homework."

"With your guitar?"

Suddenly filled with anger, a shot of heat dyed Miko's cheeks red. Pissed off, Miko slammed her things to the floor, snapping, "What? First I need to get out and go to school, and now I can't? What do you want from me!"

Mrs. Davis looked a bit stricken, but she was still suspicious. "Miko, that just doesn't seem like you, that's all. You never do homework."

Miko let her lip curl. "Well I've got nothing else to do. So can I go or not?"

Defeated, Mrs. Davis gave a heavy sigh and rubbed her temples. "All right, go. But if I hear you've been anywhere else—"

"Save it," Miko interrupted angrily. She stalked to the door and yanked it open. "You can't take anything else from me."

Banging the door shut behind her, Miko set her things down and waited on the porch steps for Bumblebee to take her back to the Autobot base. She got irritated at herself when she felt her ribs hurting—should have popped a pain pill—but didn't want to go back inside and have to deal with her host mom again. Instead, she sucked it up and got in when Bumblebee pulled up.

She frowned at the dash. "I'm studying math with Raf. Got it?"

A warbled coo of resignation.

* * *

><p>Idleness.<p>

He hated it.

As a Wrecker, he was privy to short periods of rest before the action came back and hit full force. These two weeks of lollygagging around felt so . . . _unproductive_ that Wheeljack just wanted out.

However, a strict CMO with a trigger-happy wrench was what stood between him and freedom.

Concerned with the pain Wheeljack had been reporting, Ratchet wasn't letting the Wrecker far from sight. After a check up on Wheeljack's spark that the Wrecker had been violently opposed to, Ratchet saw the problem.

It was a spark fracture. It wasn't anything new to Wheeljack. He had had the fracture for vorns upon vorns now. He was fairly sure it had started with Pyro; cracked a bit more with Seaspray; spread like the tip of the Nile from Bulkhead; and now, with Miko, deepened and clawed over the waxy surface of his spark until it pained him with every spark beat. It was something Wheeljack merely lived with. If it got particularly painful, he would reach for his holopad, watch a fond memory, and let the dead comfort him when he had nothing to live for. Miko had been . . . a blessing he hadn't realized he had been in dire need of. But now that she was gone, the agony was slowly creeping over him again, a malicious haunting engraved on his spark that he couldn't escape. The pain of his failures etched across his spark as a constant reminder of his failures.

Ratchet fretted the moment he saw the alarming spark fracture. He prescribed him with a nasty tasting energon—"To speed recovery and ease the pain"—and strictly forbade any strenuous exercise and stress.

So Wheeljack lazed like a sloth around the base Miko still had not come back to. When he asked Jack if she couldn't come because of him, Jack told him yes but also that Miko just didn't want to come. Wheeljack felt a little niggle of doubt, but didn't press the matter. He almost didn't want to.

Optimus came and went. Each time the Wrecker saw him the anger festered deeper and the hurt cut harder. And no matter if he was sitting in the middle of all of the bots and the humans, no matter what he did, where he was—he was lonely.

Discarding what his physician had prescribed, Wheeljack headed into the training rooms and began to practice simple movements, falling into a set range of movements as he experimented with his full range of motion again. He felt slow, klutzy, and out of shape even though it had been only two weeks since his last fateful battle—he shuddered that the thought and redoubled his efforts. His chest still pained him, but neither Ratchet's prescribed energon nor his orders to relax could help ease it. It had to be the loneliness.

The exercises became more and more vigorous as Wheeljack went. The physical motion felt good. The physical drain felt good. He let his anger fuel him until his blades whistled through the air and he kicked and danced in a complex pattern of attacks before he suddenly knew he wanted a sparring partner. This wasn't enough. He wanted to hit something!

And, he knew the perfect punching bag.

Touching his communicator, Wheeljack asked, "Want to spar?"

There was a moment of silence as if he couldn't believe him before Optimus stated firmly, _"Ratchet has not approved you for such strenuous exercise."_

"There isn't a thing in Pit wrong with me and you know it, Prime," Wheeljack growled. He began to stalk to the front where he knew the Prime had been last. "The numbers don't lie. There's nothing wrong with me unless it's all in my processor."

A slightly irritated rumble passed through the Prime over the line. _"That spark fracture is very serious, Wheeljack,"_ he stated with methodical patience. _"The strain of your spark is not something to be handled so frivolously."_

"Frag yourself in the afterburner," Wheeljack snarled, marching into the main silo. Icy blue optics glared into cold cobalt. "It's my body, and a little sparring isn't going to hurt. If it bothers you that much, then I'll tell you that it feels good to get moving again. Now are you gonna spar or not?"

By unspoken word, the Prime dipped into a slouch, and Wheeljack attacked without preamble, Ratchet obviously having been told not to interfere. A great fist fight ensued.

Optimus fought with reserved passions unlike Wheeljack who threw himself into battle with the passions of a Wrecker—a wrecked Wrecker, broken and bleeding with pain and loneliness. The great Prime sensed his desperate need for a punching bag, at least something to pour his frustrations and misery out on before his central processor tipped beyond where it should.

Wheeljack's fury was unparalleled. To get past the Prime's flawless defenses was difficult, but with every crack of his fist to his jaw, his knuckles to his gut, Wheeljack grew empowered. Instead, with every successful hit Optimus managed, Wheeljack's budding confidence was crushed horribly, like some unending failure that he wasn't good enough echoing from his battle with Dreadwing. He wasn't going to win this. He couldn't win. He never would.

The punches seemed to come quicker—or, no, was he slower? It didn't matter. A hard hit to his jaw had him keeling back without balance, and another to his stomach had him reeling again. Gritting through the pain, Wheeljack ducked below a powerful swing from the bigger Prime and clipped his audio receptor—but a jab below his chassis made him cry out, gasp in pain; he staggered as fires raced through his chest, aggravating the freshly healed wound and his aching spark.

Wheeljack grabbed Optimus's shoulder and forearm, bracing himself against the indomitable Prime. Sucking in a tight breath, Wheeljack tensed, refusing to make another sound of pain—he wouldn't look weak in front of the Prime. Not again . . . not again . . .

Optimus held him up, but his voice was weighted down with the pressure of the world on his shoulders.

"You should allow Ratchet to take a look at your spark again."

Scowling, Wheeljack pushed away from him, rubbing the sore spot on his chassis. "It's nothing," he muttered. "Nothing the Doc can help me with."

"And what makes you so certain of THAT?" Ratchet asked haughtily.

Wheeljack glared at him. "It's just—"

The word "loneliness" died on his tongue when he heard the irritating sound of Bumblebee's engine driving back into the silo. What did he want? He and Raf had no business coming back here, it was evening! Bumblebee honked his little horn, grabbing their attention as the door popped open and a bag was tossed haphazardously out. A math book slid from the bag, and the telltale _clack_ of the calculator was heard.

His spark skipped a painful beat.

There was only one person he knew that would throw her math book like that.

Wheeljack froze, staring as Miko shoved her guitar out in front of her before exiting Bumblebee with a word of thanks. Bumblebee beeped and backed up, turned around, and left immediately. His in cycles hitched. Miko looked up at him and swallowed; she dropped her guitar, swiping at her cheeks.

"You're really okay . . ."

Ignoring both Ratchet and Optimus, Wheeljack knelt down in front of her, and his hands hovered around her, as if afraid of breaking porcelain glass or touching a specter who would dissipate at first disturbance. "You okay?" he asked her quietly, voice quavering a bit more than he wanted it to. He cleared his throat conspicuously, but his finger tenderly nudged her back. "Toughing it out?"

She nodded, lips trembling, but she didn't cry. "Y-Yeah . . ." Her breath shuddered as she took a deep breath. To hide it, she pressed her lips together, breathing deeply before she spoke again. Wheeljack thought his spark would bleed when she said, "I missed you."

He unstuck his glossia from the top of his mouth. "I missed you too," he confessed.

How could he possibly find the words to explain the physical, mental, and emotional pain that had plagued him the past two weeks? He felt something punch his gut. Two weeks. It had only been a measly two weeks and he was already desperate to touch her as he was doing, to speak with her, to cup her to his chest like a fragile little flower. His central processor shut down on itself from the thought of enduring the rest of his life without her. Primus, he _had_ to keep her safe from all harm . . .

Instead, to express his loneliness; to justify his drunken stupor; to pacify his aloof mannerisms; to explain his fight with Optimus, all he could say again was, "I missed you too." And, it felt like enough, and that was what he needed most.

Miko nodded and steadied her nerves again with a deep breath. She winced slightly at the movement of her chest, muttering something about "pain killers" before her words became coherent again.

Shy for once, she scuffed her toe and picked up her guitar. "Um . . . I, uh, I've been working on something for you. I—" Miko looked up with round brown eyes, and Wheeljack felt his spark sputter to a halt at the innocence there. "It's a song. It—reminded me of us. Bulkhead too. And I just learned it to, you know, to," and she shrugged nervously, "to play it for you."

When she hesitated, so uncertain if he would like it or not—of course he would, no matter what, even if it was speed metal—Wheeljack gave a gesture to the amp that had been untouched for weeks. "Sure. Go ahead. I'm listening."

"Um . . . Okay."

Wheeljack wanted to laugh with relief. She was right there, right within touching distance, safe from harm even with two broken ribs that were healing. He wanted to touch her as if to make sure she was really there, to pour his spark out to her, but the commander and CMO were here too—they weren't alone. To, quite possibly . . . do something he hadn't done for a long time. A pressure that built behind his optics as he felt Miko's presence soothing the misery that gripped him.

Miko plugged in her amp, fiddling with the volume a moment before sitting down tiredly. Her fingers nervously skimmed over the guitar strings before she began to pluck the melody line, the same melody he had heard her playing on the cliff side before they went to get revenge on Dreadwing—but it was a false start. Her voice squeaked in anxiety before she cleared her throat, caught her breath and tried again. This time, the quiet, sorrowing melody flowed pretty from her guitar, and despite quavering with nervousness, her shy little voice began to sing.

Wheeljack felt his spark tighten painfully at her first words.

_"I wanted you to know, that I love the way you laugh. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain, away."_

His throat closed off with emotion. Swallowing uncomfortably, Wheeljack looked away and pressed his fists to the floor. He lived for her laugh. And to take away the pain of Bulkhead's death . . . that was all he wanted.

_"I keep your photograph, and I know it serves me well. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain . . ."_

It took Wheeljack a bit longer this time, but it suddenly occurred to him all the pictures Miko took—her album of photographs. Had she cried over them since he hadn't been able to cry for her?

But, it was now, as the chorus started up, that Wheeljack felt the fatal lubricant tease his optics.

_"Cause I'm broken, when I'm lonesome, and I don't feel right, when you're gone away."_

Miko's voice cracked on "gone" and Wheeljack hung his head, fighting the threatening tears that suddenly rose in an uncontrollable gush of lubricant. He pressed his quivering lips together, trembling with pent-up passions.

_"You've gone away . . . You don't feel me here, anymore . . ."_

His wingtips perked with the strain of holding back the emotion that surged up. Wheeljack's spark throbbed in pain, and he felt himself giving a silent cry to Bulkhead, long lost to them.

_"The worst is over now, and we can breathe again. I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain, away."_

When a harsh sob caught in Wheeljack's articulators over the latest line, Optimus and Ratchet politely left the grieving Wrecker and heartfelt human alone. Wheeljack's spark writhed—he did ease her pain. No matter how minutely, he did . . . something right. What he promised Bulkhead.

_"There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain . . ."_

He rested forward on his fists, struggling to contain himself. The tears burned in his optics. Miko's voice launched into the chorus again, soft and sweet, but filled with sudden strength and passion.

_"Cause I'm broken, when I'm open, and I don't feel like I am strong enough!"_

Another soft cry slipped from Wheeljack's lips without his consent. He began to tremble, fighting the urge to cry with all his spark.

_I am not strong enough . . ._

"_Cause I'm broken, when I'm lonesome, and I don't feel right when you're gone away!"_

_ So lonely . . ._

As Miko's fingers deftly played the bridge, plucking and strumming easily, Wheeljack was surprised to hear her say softly, "You can cry." He looked up, emotions teetering at the edge of his control, a film of wetness covering his optics. Miko's head was down, but it did nothing to conceal the streams of tears trickling down her cheeks and onto her guitar. "This song always makes me cry," she whispered to him. "And . . . I appreciate you being strong for me about Bulkhead, but . . . You can cry too. I won't hold it against you."

Indeed, Dreadwing had brought him to his breaking point—and broken him. With the soft urge from Miko, Wheeljack broke down when she threw herself passionately into the chorus again.

_"Cause I'm broken! When I'm open! And I don't feel like I am strong enough!"_

Wheeljack wept. He did more than weep—he mourned with shuddering sobs he hadn't spent in ages, shedding the tears he had funneled into hate and revenge.

_"Cause I'm broken! When I'm lonesome! And I don't feel right, when you're gone awa-a-a-ay!"_

He collapsed on his hands and knees, servos bunched tightly into fists on either side of Miko knelt on the floor. Wheeljack bowed his head over, harsh sobs gritting from between clenched dentures. His lamentations were so loud he almost drowned out Miko's voice, but she scooted closer so she could lean against his audio receptor supportively, singing out a heart and spark through a song made specifically for them. No matter how powerful the two original voices could have been, Wheeljack would forever remember Miko's voice as the perfect one for this song; so full of passion, straining for the high notes, breaking and halting with the strength of her own tears.

_"Cause I'm broken! When I'm lonesome! And I don't feel right when you're gone!_

_ "You've gone away. You don't feel me here . . . anymore . . ."_

_ Bulkhead . . ._

* * *

><p><strong>"Broken"_Seether ft. Amy Lee<strong>


	18. Disco Ball Earrings

**Author's Note:**

**I have a feeling TFP Wheeljack was a LOT like his G1 counterpart before the war, and then joining up with the Wreckers changed him. As such, enjoy the easter eggs in this chapter! ^^ Oh, and I quite literally had no idea what happened at the end of this chapter until I took a couple minutes to sort myself out. XD**

* * *

><p>Wheeljack's optics onlined from a deep stasis devoid of nightmares. The first thing he noticed was the soft snoring from Miko in his audio receptor, and he felt his features soften at the precious sound. He didn't shift positions so she wouldn't fall off his shoulder, but a pair of optics fixed on them dragged Wheeljack's sight up.<p>

He immediately felt defensive at the sight of the Prime watching them with unreadable optics. Quietly, empathetically, Wheeljack murmured, "Say what you will, but I am _never_ leaving her again. You can frag me to the pit and back, but Miko is _mine_. I won't let _anyone,_ including you, stand in between us." His spark pulsed aggressively, possessive of his little girl.

Optimus shook his head and said gently, "I expected nothing less from you, Wheeljack." Surprise colored Wheeljack's emotions. Optimus nodded once, respectfully, and a slightly teasing tone overlapped his warm voice. "And, I trust that you will charm your way back into Mrs. Davis's heart." With that, the Prime left them, walking back deeper into the silo.

After a moment, a sigh decompressed from Wheeljack's body. He automatically dialed Mrs. Davis's number, steeling himself for what were sure to be some choice and harsh words.

_"Wheeljack."_

"Mrs. Davis," he said quickly, quietly, "please listen to my words."

_"Miko needs to come home right now,"_ she said strictly. Wheeljack felt his jaw tighten at her accusing tone.

"I'll bring her home as soon as you listen to what I have to say," he asserted. "Deal?"

A barely concealed scoff colored her tone. _"I'm not making any deals with you,"_ she told him. _"Bring her home."_

He narrowed his optics, forcefully keeping his voice low so he wouldn't disturb Miko's slumber. "I'll bring her home when I'm through speaking with you."

_"I don't want to hear it."_

"Mrs. Davis," he said, ignoring her last comment, "the reason I am alive is because of my spark—my heart, if you will. Currently, I am suffering more than just my wound, but also an affliction called spark fracture, a malady exceedingly similar to spark break." Wheeljack shifted when he felt Miko shift—she was waking up. "Spark break almost always results in the death of a mech—if someone can survive spark break, you know Primus-slagged well that he's a mech with a will of iron. Spark fractures are a down-played version of spark break, but not by far."

He paused a moment, letting her take in what he was saying. "Currently, my spark fracture is spreading so much that it is starting to endanger my life. With each of my family that I have lost—Pryo, Seaspray, Bulkhead, and even Miko for this short span—the small crack in my spark has gotten bigger and bigger. The pain is so intense that I feel like I'm getting stabbed with every beat of my spark."

Miko was suddenly wide awake, eyes wide with horror. "Jackie—"

He waved her silent, focused on Mrs. Davis's silence. "That is just one of many reasons of why I _cannot_ allow you to keep us separate. I'm sure symptoms of her loneliness have shown if not as apparent as my own." She still, still didn't speak. Wheeljack gave a rumble. "And if you are still hesitant to care for both Miko and my own sanity and health, then listen to Broken by Seether and Amy Lee. It may change your mind on how you view us."

Wheeljack waited for Mrs. Davis's verdict, Miko standing with a wince from his shoulder. He frowned—she had slept funny, and now her ribs were hurting her. Not to mention his own chassis was throbbing too.

Finally, Mrs. Davis said quietly, "You mean to tell me you're dying because I won't let you near Miko."

He paused. "Maybe not necessarily dying yet, but most certainly in a lot of pain. If it continues, I have a feeling it'd eventually kill me."

Eventually, he heard her quiet scoff. "You can't be serious. Do you honestly realize how farfetched that sounds? Hearts don't break like that."

Wheeljack rolled his optics, but he felt his spark warm when Miko snuggled against his cheek. His lips tugged into a tiny smile because of her. "Mrs. Davis for us, Cybertronians, it does. It is a sickness unique to . . ." he wracked his processor for the right word, "our species."

"Forgive me for doubting you, but you've lied to me before."

Wheeljack gave a frustrated vent of air and pinched his nose. "Look . . . Fine, if you don't believe me, come to the base. I'll show you what it's doing to me." _I'll what? "_You can even pick up Miko while you're here." _I'm letting her what?_

Mrs. Davis seemed to be weighing her options, and she finally agreed to the terms. He gave her directions, and they hung up.

There was a palpable pause. "I'm not going home with her."

"Miko—"

"I want to be with you," she whispered softly, cuddling closer. Wheeljack's spark melted. "Can I persuade you to persuade her that I get to stay? After all, I just got you back."

His chest rumbled in something akin to a purr. He leaned his head a little, returning her hug. "I can try."

"Good."

And that was all it took. Wheeljack ignored Ratchet at his computer—who knows when the mech got there—and instead felt the distress Miko emitted.

"Wheeljack? What do you mean it feels like you're getting stabbed?"

He vented a sigh and closed his optics. "Don't worry about it."

"I think it's worth worrying over!"

The hurt tone that overlapped her voice pained Wheeljack's spark again. Pinching his brows, Wheeljack murmured, "Look, Miko, I appreciate the concern, but this really is nothing you can help me with. You heard the explanation, right?" She nodded. "So try not to worry about it. Okay?"

Miko frowned, unhappy that he thought to just let the pain run its course. "Does it help when I do this?"

Wheeljack's spark jumped in surprise when she affectionately kissed his cheek. Contrary to what Wheeljack's original thoughts were, for a second, the pain did ease . . . despite it coming back right away.

"A little."

She kissed him again. "Did a little become a lot?"

His mouth plates quirked. "Not really . . ."

She planted another kiss. "How about now?"

Wheeljack couldn't help but smirk, optics twinkling. "Now you're just being silly."

"But it's helping, right?"

She kissed him again, and Wheeljack could only shake his head at her efforts to make him feel better. "Spark fracture is a long term thing," he told her. He gave a light shrug of the shoulder she wasn't on. "It's not gonna get solved overnight."

Miko made an irritated sound and kissed his cheek harder, as if trying to forcefully push away the shadows of his spark. "Well then I can kiss you long term."

His spark pulsed in bemusement. "Just being with you is enough."

Miko grumbled again and kissed him before snuggling petulantly into his neck cables.

Striving to distract her, he knew the one thing that would cheer her up, even if it cost him a little bit of pride.

"Hey, Miko?"

She kissed his cheek affectionately. "Yeah?"

His lips slanted upwards. "Wanna know a secret?"

She popped up. "A secret? I love secrets!"

Wheeljack chuckled and let her climb into his hand so she could get a good look at him. "Now this is a special secret," he said. He shook a finger. "Not many bots know this unless they knew me before the war or were on the Wrecking team. It's the ultimate secret. You ready?"

She nodded vigorously, nearly wiggling with excitement. "Yeah! What is it?"

Wheeljack grinned wickedly. "My ear finials used to glow when I talked."

Miko blinked. Then, she began to laugh, and she laughed so hard she fell on her side, so hard that tears began to pour down her cheeks. Wheeljack then heard how silly he sounded, and he began to laugh too, sucked into her intoxicating happiness.

It was quite some time before they got a hold of themselves again. One would look at the other and start cracking up all over again, and it left a very perturbed Ratchet stewing at his computers.

Finally, Miko bit her lip and looked up at him, asking, "Do they still do it?"

Wheeljack chuckled and nodded. "Yeah. I just terminated the program cause the Wreckers teased me about it so badly when I first joined up. Wanna see it?"

Miko squealed. "Yes! Yes!"

Wheeljack chuckled and turned on the program he hadn't used for millennia. He waggled his brows before saying, "Disco ball earrings."

True to his words, the ear finials blinked with his words, and Miko succumbed to laughter all over again, giggling helplessly in his hand. "They really do glow!" she shrieked, laughing so hard for the weeks she had to catch up on.

Wheeljack grinned, optics twinkling down on her. "They sure do," he said, aware of the blinking on either side of his face. "Don't I look cute?"

Miko struggled to keep her face straight as she solemnly said, "You look fabulous." Laughter sputtered from between tight lips.

Wheeljack laughed heartily, ear finials blinking on and off in time to the sound. "Tell ya what," he said. He stood up, wincing as he stretched back and forth. "When I get your host mom to realize she's stuck with me, we'll go dune bashing, all right?"

Miko started to squeal with delight, but Ratchet abandoned his computers with sudden alacrity, growling, "Oh no you don't! Dune bashing? That takes too much energy, Wheeljack! And if you got the sand in your healing wound—" The medic cut off with aggrieved frustration, waving his servos. "Oh, the resulting infection would be a catastrophe and merely leave you bedridden again!"

Wheeljack rolled his optics. His ear finials continued to blink, making Miko giggle until tears came into her eyes. "Fine, cool your pistons, Doc. Wouldn't want to blow a gasket in front of Miko, now would we?"

When Wheeljack winked at Miko, making them both snicker at an inside joke that the medic apparently didn't get, it only served to cause Ratchet to become more infuriated. Finally, he sputtered out, "My name is NOT Doc!" before he whirled back to the computers, muttering the whole time about, "Good for nothing, juvenile, reckless Wreckers . . ."

Miko's smiles suddenly disappeared as she looked up at Wheeljack from his servo. "Wait—so what are we gonna do?"

Wheeljack gave a thoughtful rumble, letting his ear finials continue to flash in time to his words. "Well . . . Maybe I'll take you racing. I am a hot shot racer after all. Though, I guess we'd have to wait until night when all the racers come out."

Ratchet spun from his computers, piqued beyond words. "You—What are you, crazy! That's against Autobot protocol! STREET RACING? You're as bad as Jack and Bumblebee!"

Wheeljack flashed the medic a cocky grin, ear finials twinkling happily. "Nah, I'm a lot worse than that, Doc," he drawled out.

Furious energon flushed to Ratchet's cheeks. "I said my name is not DOC! Please, don't call me that!"

That slow grin drew to maddening. He waved a nonchalant servo. "Whatever you say . . . _Stud Muffin._"

Miko snorted from the effort of holding in her laughter. Ratchet half growled half grumbled to himself before snarling, "No street racing!" and jerking back to his computers.

Wheeljack chuckled and sighed again. He glanced down on his human charge. "First thing's first—get you home so you can clean up. I know you hate hygiene issues."

Miko wrinkled her nose. "Got that right."

A discreet rumble of her stomach alerted him to another thing. "And we'll get you some fuel." He paused and resorted his thoughts. "Food."

Miko nodded. She looked up at him thoughtfully before she grinned and proclaimed, "I like it when your audio receptors blink."

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. I don't want people knowing about it. It's bad enough the Doc does—he'll probably use it to blackmail me."

"Not a bad idea . . ." he heard Ratchet muttered venomously.

"Heard that."

"Good."

Wheeljack rolled his optics again. "Whatever. So, no dune bashing and no street racing." He gave a heavy depression of air. "He's really sucking the fun out of this." Leaning idly at the area where the kids usually sat, he peered down at Miko in his hand. He accessed the internet and grumbled.

"Great. No monster truck rallies this week." Miko whined. Wheeljack smirked. "None of your favorite bands."

She narrowed her eyes then. "Are you sure? Or do you just not want to go?"

"Seriously, Miko, there isn't one."

She allowed herself to be appeased, and was willing to let it go out of pure amusement of seeing his ear finials still blinking. He seemed to have forgotten about them.

"We're running out of options really quick," Wheeljack muttered. He reached up his servo and kneaded behind his neck.

Miko's eyes suddenly alighted. "Ooh! I know! You could tell some more war stories!"

Wheeljack snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "That's it!" he agreed. Then, the tell tale proximity alarm of the silo began to blare. His gaze shuttered. "Right after I deal with Mrs. Davis."

Miko frowned too, and Ratchet scowled, muttering something akin to "secret" base as a 1993 light blue Buick Century drove in and parked.

Wheeljack turned towards it and set Miko on the floor. After a moment, Mrs. Davis stepped from the car while giving Ratchet hesitant looks—but her eyes kept returning to Wheeljack in shock.

Clearly, she hadn't been ready for exactly how enormous they were compared to humans. His size intimidated her a moment before she hoisted her chin with a steadying breath and strode towards Wheeljack.

She didn't stop to even grace them with a hello, but went ahead and said to Miko, "Pack up and let's go." Miko sneered, but her host mom missed it as she began to take the stairs up to the bot's height. Wheeljack looked down at her when she came to stand in front of him.

She crossed her arms, and hostile green eyes looked up at him. "Wheeljack, if you think I'm going to allow you to chaperone Miko after this, you're sorely mistaken."

Miko erupted in a flurry of words, but Wheeljack held up a hand to silence her. "Mother bear. I got it." A puzzled look crossed Mrs. Davis's face. Scowling, Wheeljack terminated the program that let his ear finials blink. "Look, Mrs. Davis, no matter what problems you've got with me, I need Miko. Trust me, that annoys me as much as it does you."

"Hey!"

Mrs. Davis narrowed her eyes at him. "So? You said you can show me your "spark" or whatever your heart is."

When Ratchet's helm suddenly looked over, Wheeljack shuffled his feet unconsciously and nodded. "Yeah." He steeled himself. It was just like with Miko, he told himself, no more, no less . . . Keeping carefully averted from Ratchet and stomaching his own insecurity issues, Wheeljack opened the latch hidden in his chassis and allowed his chest plates to retract open.

Mrs. Davis jolted back as if having not expected him to really show her. "Take a good look," he rumbled. He pointed to his damaged spark, letting his finger follow the distinct cracks weeping through the beating heart. "I'm sure that even to your human eyes it's apparent that that isn't healthy. It's quite literally breaking my spark in half." Mrs. Davis stared with wide eyes as he explained it to her. He shifted his finger to the side some where it was clearly marred, pointing to fresh welds and pinched wiring that still hadn't fully healed. "All this here? That's what Dreadwing did to me. If he had gotten my spark, or even this line more," and he pointed to thick energon line with several strips of dissolvable electrical tape strapped over it, "he would have killed me. And honestly, this," and he gestured to his spark, "hurts a helluva lot more than this," and he finished by pointing to the mark Dreadwing had left in him.

Mrs. Davis looked up at him finally, suddenly taking this life-form differently than she had before. "You're blushing," she finally said.

Wheeljack scowled and shut his spark chamber, gruffly saying, "Well, there's a lot more to sparks than I want to get into right now. Did you listen to the song?"

"No."

"Well, when you go home do that. Cry yourself a river. I'm done."

He stepped back, and he watched her dip her head and rub her forehead. Wheeljack felt little fingers grip his ankle. His spark pulsed at her touch.

Mrs. Davis heaved a hard sigh and looked up at him. "Wheeljack—"

"Mrs. Davis," he cut her off, "Miko means everything to me. Forget my spark, I'm asking you not to take her away from me."

Mrs. Davis made a frustrated sound and rubbed the lines in her forehead. Finally, strained, she started in, "Wheeljack, you—"

He heard it in her voice, the unwillingness. His spark panged. "Do I have to beg?" he asked her. "Get down on my knees? Cause, I will." He paused, thinking over his words, and he looked down on Miko. He nodded firmly. "Yeah. I'd get on my knees for Miko."

Ratchet turned from his computers, astonished at the Wrecker willing to give up on his pride for the human, a significance lost on Mrs. Davis.

She slowly shook her head. Wheeljack's spark slowly broke.

_No . . . C'mon . . ._

"I can't do it," Mrs. Davis finally said. The pressure on his spark increased.

_She really isn't . . . But—Miko! She's my . . . little girl . . ._

"It's just . . . that's really not my decision alone to make," Mrs. Davis admitted, trying to rub the worried lines from her forehead. Miko's fingers tightened on his ankle; the constriction tightened around his spark—Primus that hurt . . . His in cycles came a bit faster to accommodate for the rising pain. "My husband is a part of this to, no matter how small a role he seems to play in Miko's life right now. He doesn't trust you all. In fact, he doesn't want you to have anything to do with Miko."

Wheeljack tried to discreetly bring his hand up to rub at his aching spark. It didn't help at all—in fact, it only seemed like it was getting worse, the sawing leaving his spark in shreds. Mrs. Davis heaved a conflicted breath. "So, I'm sorry, but I can't go against his wishes. Miko has to come home. If it was my own decision . . ." She shook her head sadly. "But it's not. We'll manage without you, Wheeljack, I promise, but Miko has to come home. Will you be all—"

"I don't want to!" Miko shouted. Her quick and angry denials swiftly brought the attention away from Wheeljack, but that was good. He felt himself rock back on his heels, something deep within him groaning as he struggled to keep upright.

_She's being taken away from me . . ._

His spark writhing in agony suddenly came to life with a vengeance. It crackled in fury, surging behind his chest plates with paternal rage for his sparkling, and Wheeljack felt his knees going weak. Miko's voice dimmed in his audio receptors as the sole thing he could focus on was the misery in his spark that was slowly devouring him from the inside out.

He staggered a little, and a servo shot out to steady himself. He heard the crunch of the railing beneath his fingers. His articulators strained. "R-Ratchet . . . Ratchet . . ."

His spark's energies beat against the inside of his chassis like tempest winds. He felt the medic's hands snap to him, helping support his weight. A heavy whine strained from Wheeljack's gears, and he bared his teeth, gritting out, "Oh Primus—Ratchet, it hurts like the Pit. Frag—Frag . . . !"

Wheeljack jerked, struggling to hold back the pain at Miko's worrying. "I'm fine," he stammered, straightening his back even as Ratchet barked at him to move to his medical berth. "I'm fine," he repeated, jaw tightening when the pain assaulted steady and raw at the thought of not seeing Miko. He was going to tell her mother to go to Pit—he was staying with Miko no matter what—but his articulators felt beyond his control as Ratchet laid him flat on the medical berth. Angrily, Wheeljack pushed at the medic's hands when he reached for his chassis, but another wave of pain slugged him and made him dig both servos into the medical berth. Ratchet took advantage of this and opened his chassis.

"By the All Spark . . ."

What was he seeing? Wheeljack tried to life his head, but rather, he arched in pain, head tipping back, gritting his dentures and digging his fingers harder into the berth. His in cycles came a bit faster as he heard the angry hiss and crackle of his spark, and with a sudden punch of fear, Wheeljack realized his spark was trying to go volatile on him.

_Now what the frag was he supposed to do?_

"Wheeljack? Wheeljack, what's happening!"

The ropes of electrical energies reaching into plain sight retracted into Wheeljack's chest instinctively, writhing on the inside. "I'm fine, Babe," he said as lightly as he could, wondering why the hell he was downplaying what could possibly be his death if Ratchet couldn't get his spark stabilized. "It's just a little fit, that's all."

In response to feeling the human's life-force in the room, Wheeljack's spark surged again, pressing forth from his chest in earnest. Groaning, Wheeljack fought to restrain the nearly sentient spark that kept reaching to her. What the Pit, his spark was HIS! He shouldn't have a problem controlling it! Unease crawled its way through his circuits, and the longing for Miko nearly overpowered his every thought, his spark causing the influx of his central processor to turn to the most basic need to sustain his life—which happened to be Miko.

"Miko!" Ratchet barked. He pointed to Wheeljack. "Here! Now!"

The little human darted over as Ratchet reached over, preparing a sedative to forcefully push Wheeljack into a light stasis (which would slow his spark's violent beating and stabilize it). Struggling not to writhe in pain on the berth, Wheeljack gave Miko a supportive, if tight, grin of encouragement.

"It's just a little episode," he repeated, inwardly in a slight panic. JUST a little episode? Dear Primus! His fingers curled around her little body, and his spark all but howled in response, the ropes of electrical energies zapping and crackling and spitting angrily at how close and yet how far away she was. Sitting up on his elbow, Wheeljack faced her, and Ratchet whirled with the sedative just as something happened that not even the medic could have predicted.

The tendrils of energy lunged for the soft-bodied human, and Wheeljack's jaw gaped in genuine surprise when his aggressive spark RIPPED the tiny human from his grasp and pulled her inside. Miko shrieked when she was dragged inward, and the panels to his spark chamber snapped shut, locking her inside him.

There was a tense beat of silence before Ratchet literally dropped the sedative.


	19. Prescribed Human

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry it's been a while, got busy with life before I realized time was slipping by! :)**

**Beginning was a little rough, but it evened out by the time I got to the war story, and then I couldn't finish this chapter without screaming to the heavens, "SQUEEEEEEEEEEE IT'S SO CUUUUUUTE!" and flapping my hands like crazy. ^^**

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><p>Wheeljack was the first to do something, which was say weak and shaky, "Miko?" He tried to open his chest plates, but he found he couldn't. Despite that being alarming, he was . . . calm, actually. He was still intaking rather heavily from the stress of the ordeal, but otherwise, was strangely peaceful.<p>

When he couldn't override whatever it was keeping his chest plates closed, Wheeljack's servo jumped to his chassis, and he tried to manually force the doors back open. Despite undoing the latch and pulling until it hurt, the doors didn't budge. Worry slashed over him.

"Miko? Miko, Babe, are you all right?"

Ratchet clamped a servo on his shoulder, and Wheeljack tensed up, coiled up like a cobra for the strike. An answering spike of activity of his spark answered his defensiveness. "Calm down," Ratchet ordered, not taking into account how Wheeljack was reacting he was so worried about the human trapped inside. "Stay as calm as possible. The more steady and calm your spark, the better."

Wheeljack clenched his jaw. Telling him to be calm at a time like this!?

"Miko," Ratchet called towards Wheeljack's chassis. "Miko, can you hear me?"

A muffled, but answering, "Yeah!" met their audio receptors, and Wheeljack let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Are you all right?" Ratchet asked next.

"Yeah!" There was a pause. Her muted voice was shouting to be heard from the inside of Wheeljack's chest. "Um, it's really bright in here! I can't open my eyes! And it's hot!"

"Hot?" Ratchet said immediately. "Hot enough to burn you?"

"No!"

"Good. Try to stay as far away from his spark as possible. We're going to get you out."

"Uh, sure!"

"It's not opening," Wheeljack told Ratchet heedlessly, spark still pulsing with unease.

Ratchet gave a perturbed grumble and reached for the hidden latch to open Wheeljack's spark, attempting to pry open the chamber.

Wheeljack couldn't stop the next thing that happened either.

His spark roared to life with white-hot activity, making Miko shriek from within. Wheeljack gave a growl that rattled his chest as he felt his spark react in a violent, defensive anger. The invasion attempt infuriated him, and he could feel Ratchet's hand attempting to open the chamber and STEAL. HIS. SPARKLING!

With territorial fury, Wheeljack surged up on primal instinct and slammed Ratchet into the wall. His optics blazed nearly neon-white and a threatening rumble rolled up his chassis.

"_MY_ humanspark!" he roared dangerously, servos clenching on Ratchet until his metal crunched beneath his grip.

A tense cloud of silence shrouded the silo. Wheeljack's rapid venting was the only sound that penetrated through the veil, and Ratchet held perfectly still, gauging Wheeljack's instability. Finally, a muffled voice broke the silence.

"Wheeljack! Wheeljack, it's really hot in here now! I mean, it's getting REALLY hot!"

Ratchet eyed the Wrecker whose dancing optics were finally calming a little, anchoring himself back to reality. "Let go," he said evenly. "Unless you want to risk burning Miko to a crisp. We've got to get her out."

After a moment of venting sharply, Wheeljack gave a curt nod as he tried to control his raging emotions—_where the hell had THAT come from?_

Ratchet moved off quickly, muttering something complicated to himself about how to get Wheeljack's chassis to open, but Wheeljack thought he had already figured it out. It was his emotions getting in the way—he was stressing and possessive to the point of dangerous. Taking a deep breath, Wheeljack let it roll off of him, and he toggled the latch. True to his thoughts, the chest plates opened easily and his raging spark of before settled. He plucked Miko out with ease, leaving a sputtering Ratchet bewildered at his mood swings.

_Note to self,_ Wheeljack thought, _don't get ruled by emotion._

"What just happened."

Wheeljack looked up to where he saw a puzzled and scared Mrs. Davis looking at them with apprehension. He looked down at Miko, back up to her host mom, and finally said with a light shrug. "Well, I didn't expect that one. I guess you could call it an episode. That's what happens when you take her from me."

He started to put Miko down, but Ratchet's angry snarl of, "Don't you put her down!" caused Wheeljack to jerk back up in shock.

"Doc?"

"Don't call me that! And if you think you can just put her down and walk away after THAT you are SORELY mistaken!"

The CMO whipped around and scanned Wheeljack's spark again, and Wheeljack blinked down on Miko who stared up equally bewildered. Ratchet was really . . . piqued. Pissed off. Wheeljack didn't move as he considered the last time he had gotten on Ratchet's bad side and met with an evil wrench.

The medic grumbled angrily to himself, and Wheeljack arched a brow before looking down at Miko. Her big brown eyes were wide, and she gave a hesitant shrug. Wheeljack shrugged back before looking at the worried Mrs. Davis.

"It really is life and death for you, isn't it?"

It stung to be that dependent on someone else to live, but Wheeljack knew it was true, despite all misgivings. He gave a nod and said, "Guess so." He snorted. "Great. I'm getting all needy now." He jabbed a finger down at Miko. "This is your fault, know that?"

Before Miko could come back with her own snarky remark, Ratchet whirled with his optics pinned to his arm, double-checking all of Wheeljack's levels. "Mrs. Davis," he said brusquely to her, "I do not care what your husband says. This is a doctor and his patient, and Wheeljack needs Miko. I am here by forcing Miko and Wheeljack to keep each other company for a minimum of one hour each day."

Wheeljack, befuddled at Ratchet's train of thought, blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

"What? You can't just go prescribing human, Ratchet!"

"I just did," he replied smartly back. As he compared scans at the computer, he added in a grumble, "Make that hour two . . ."

Miko suddenly grinned. "You mean Wheeljack HAS to stick with me?"

The implications of that suddenly hit Wheeljack too. He gave a hearty but relieved laugh. "Oh Primus, Ratchet, I could kiss you right now!"

An aggrieved rumble passed through Ratchet. "I would appreciate it if you would keep your distance."

Wheeljack laughed again, and in his exhilaration, did a very non-Wheeljack-like thing. In a very rare display of public affection, Wheeljack scooped Miko up to his chassis and let a pleased rumble pass through his chest. "Miko, you better get ready, cause it looks like you're stuck with me!"

Miko squealed with delight and snuggled in close. "Yes!" She pumped her fists into the air before wincing and rubbing her ribs slightly. "Good. Yes!"

Wheeljack looked down at Mrs. Davis, and his optics sparked to life at the smile she was trying to suppress and her disbelieving chuckle. "Wheeljack, I expect to see you around," she said lightly. Then, she tried to give her severest frown and pointed and wagged a finger at him. "But if you so much as try something funny again . . ."

Wheeljack held up a defeated servo at her threat. "Trust me," he grumbled, and his optics softened again as he looked down at Miko, "I've learned my lesson." He grinned. "Ready to go, Babe?"

Miko whooped, and as Mrs. Davis protested, "I can drive her," Ratchet also exploded, "Wheeljack, you don't need to be transforming yet—!" and Wheeljack whipped himself down into his alternate mode.

He groaned heavily at the fires that ripped across his chassis as his body folded down into the alt mode, and before he could even THINK to drive, Ratchet's peds were in front of him and a dark scowl. "Back to the medical berth. Now."

"What?" Wheeljack protested on an irritated snarl. He transformed up again, hissing painfully and putting a hand to his chassis while the other held Miko. "I didn't do anything!"

Herded by Ratchet, Wheeljack was forced unwillingly back to the medical berth. He sat down petulantly and sat Miko down with a roll of his optics.

"If you didn't break those welds open, you'll be lucky. Let me see."

Wheeljack groaned audibly, this time in protest of Ratchet. He rolled his optics down to Miko. "Go ahead with Mrs. Davis. By the time your back he might be done with me."

Wheeljack quailed when Ratchet waved his wrench. "Don't make me use this. Do I make myself clear?"

Wheeljack nodded, energon tanks rolling and processor percolating rapidly at the subdued threat overshadowed by the thousands of things he could do wrong between now and when Miko got back.

"Perfectly."

* * *

><p>"You should tell me how you joined up with the Wreckers!"<p>

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "That one? I don't know how much there is to tell . . ."

"C'mon!" Miko groaned next to him on the couch. "It's GOTTA be a good one! What made you join up with the Wreckers? I bet they had to come to YOU because you were such a great fighter!"

Wheeljack chuckled and leaned against the railing lightly. His ruminations turned inward as he remembered how he had joined up with the Wreckers. "Well . . . It's not as exciting as the Battle of Darkmount Pass, but . . . I guess I can tell it."

"Sweet!"

Wheeljack laughed and shook his head at her enthusiasm. "Easy, Babe. I wasn't a flashy warrior before the War for Cybertron. Before the war, I was just a scientist."

"Whoa," Miko breathed. She stood up on the couch and made a camera with her thumbs and index fingers, and after studying him a moment, grinned. "Yeah, I can see it. You and those dorky blinking audio receptors and all."

Wheeljack rolled his optics at her and crossed his arms. "Easy, Babe. I was a real gentlebot before I joined up with the Wreckers!"

Miko laughed so hard she snorted. "Pfft, right. You? A gentleman? Puh-lease."

"Oh yeah—" and Wheeljack knuckled her into the couch, making her squeal. "I was a master at explosives! Well, among other things. Most of the time I wasn't making explosives but my experiments sure made some great ones."

"So you were a dunce when it came to science?" Miko asked while sitting up.

Wheeljack gave one pronounced, barking laugh. "Don't let these rough looks fool ya," he told her, leaning in with a squint of his optics. "I was a real genius in my heyday. Trust me, when I strike it good, I strike it GOLD."

"And cause more trouble than you're worth in the long haul!" Ratchet called smartly from his computers.

Wheeljack rolled his optics and pressed a sigh from his pistons. "I swear, if I have to spend one more day with that aggravating medic . . ." Optimus, at least, was perfectly quiet. The commander leaned against the far wall, watching them mildly.

Miko giggled. "Yeah. And I'm sure he's saying the same thing about you. 'If I have to spend one more day with that crackpot inventor . . .'"

Ratchet looked over, quirking an incredulous brow at Miko. "Are you mocking me?"

Miko whirled and put her hands on her hips like Ratchet did. "Are you mocking me?"

Wheeljack busted out laughing at her mimicking of Ratchet, altering her voice and everything. Ratchet narrowed his eyes. "You have to be the most juvenile—"

"You have to be the most juvenile—" Miko repeated it so snarky that Wheeljack felt his chest throb a little he laughed so hard.

"That is so rude—!"

"That is so rude!"

"I don't have to take this from you—"

Miko wrinkled her nose as she mimicked his angry tone. "I don't have to take this from you—"

"And that's some way to thank me after getting you back together!"

"And that's some way to thank me after getting you back together!"

Wheeljack roared with laughter and gave Miko a little fist bump. "Please, Doc, you know if we're teasing you we love you!"

Ratchet scowled and grumbled as he turned back to his computers. "I could do with a little less love . . ."

That sent both Miko and Wheeljack into more fits of laughter until both were wincing and clutching at their hurting chests. They gave each other sheepish grins.

"Two peas in a pod, eh?"

Miko grinned. "Like always. Anyways, Mr. I'm-A-Great-Inventor, what happened? So you're a scientist. What made you join the Wreckers?"

Wheeljack straightened and vented sharply. He shook his head. "Oh, man, when I joined the Wreckers . . . Okay. First thing's first. It was early war. Optimus was still just a green horn leader while Megatron was experienced in battle, a gladiator bringing his fist down on the newly formed Autobots, and bringing his fist down _hard._ I lived in Crystal City, just southwest of the Well of All Sparks, practically a breeding ground for scientist and new inventions. You remember Ruination?"

Miko's eyes alighted. "I sure do!"

Wheeljack gave a small laugh and waved her down. "Easy, Babe. Ruination hadn't been thought of _yet_. See, the Decepticons were taking down city after city, and Crystal City became their next objective. They swarmed in, attacking in one monstrously aggressive pack that bore down on the city like a pack of dogs." Wheeljack felt his throat tighten in remembrance of the black day, and he shook his helm. He rocked back on his heels and put his servos on his hips, dimly aware that Arcee and Jack were back, this time with Raf and Bumblebee in tow. Ah, Saturday.

Lost in thought, Wheeljack murmured, "I'll never forget that day. Running through the streets, lost in the confusion, the bedlam of war—the explosions and gunfire and screams. I don't know what was worse. But the sickest part . . . It was probably the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

Miko's jaw dropped a little. "B-But . . . Beautiful? How can war be beautiful?"

Wheeljack shook his head again with a heavy grumble. "Miko, Crystal City was the most beautiful city on Cybertron. Oh Primus, the way it would glitter in the mornings when the sun came over the horizon, and the glow of night settling in. This was a city created by Shockwave and his stressed-crystal experiments, and the work was overseen by Shockwave; the labor by the Constructicons." He gave a bitter laugh and passed his servo over his face. "What sick irony that the Constructicons that made it were the ones to become Devastator and tear it down."

Miko shuffled, sitting on the couch. "Devastator?"

Wheeljack nodded. "Yeah," he drawled out roughly. "A combination of Constructicons that towered eons over the rest. That's where we got the idea of Ruination—something to combat Devastator." Wheeljack shook his head again, the memories eating away a hole in his already ruined chassis. "Primus, Miko," he whispered, "it was so hideous but so Primus-slagged beautiful. The way those hands tore through Crystal City's outer wall without mercy and gave us all a waterfall of sparkling shards." Unconsciously, Wheeljack's servo reached up to cup the back of his neck as if he could FEEL the spray of glass on his neck again. "The brilliant way those pristine, ostentatious buildings and sculptures shattered beneath Devastator's hands and feet, or his energy blasters, those vivid displays of colors . . . The burning of the Refracting Gardens like the Pit's glittering fires in heaven . . . An inglorious and magnificent fusion of art and violence."

Wheeljack felt his shoulders dip, and he stared at his servos, not knowing whether he would rather rue the day he had seen Crystal City's destruction or awe at the sheer beauty he had beheld. Once again that feeling of helplessness crept up inside him. His hands clenched. Primus, he had only been able to flee instead of fighting and protecting his home like he should have been! The most beautiful place on Cybertron, fit for the Primes themselves . . . and he was one of the many that did not try to protect it.

" . . . Jackie?"

He blinked, not realizing he had trailed off. Wheeljack looked up to Miko whose brows were pinched with worry. "You don't have to tell it if it's going to bother you," she said quietly. Her fingers plucked at the back of the couch, and Wheeljack's spark softened at her worry.

He gave a shrug, saying, "Nah, don't worry about it. I started it, I might as well finish it. Besides, I knew what I was getting into." Rolling his shoulders, Wheeljack vented away the misfortune and focused on where he had been—and felt sick in his energon tanks.

"Now, where was I? Running around, arms flailing, trying to get the Pit out of there." He threw Miko a lopsided grin. "That didn't turn out too well in my case. I was one of the MANY that were captured."

Miko perked up then. "You were? I bet you busted out of there. I bet you took down twenty 'Cons in the process!"

Wheeljack couldn't help but give a warm laugh at her confidence in him, but he shook his head. "No, Miko, remember? My early days. Nerdy scientist. Guy who'd rather give in than fight back. And these doohickeys," and he pointed to his audio receptors.

Miko snorted a giggle at that which got him incredulous looks from all of his audience. Raf, sitting dumbfounded, absently pushed up his glasses; Jack absently swiped his hair out of his face. Arcee arched a brow. "What doohickeys?"

Wheeljack grinned. "Me and Miko's secret."

*Aw, c'mon!* Bumblebee interjected. *You've got to tell us!*

Wheeljack laughed again. "Not on your life," he said, and waved them all quiet again. "Now, all us captives? We didn't do so good. Shockwave picked his favorites and sent us all off to his lair—I was one of those."

Arcee stiffened from across the room. "Shockwave?"

Wheeljack nodded. "And the rest of them, well—" He faltered suddenly before shaking his head and skirting over the issue with, "Well, that doesn't really matter. Now—"

"What happened to them?" Miko interjected. She sat up straighter, a frown marring her brow. "Did they join the Decepticons?"

Wheeljack pressed out an uncomfortable vent as he considered all Miko had gone through already. Finally, realizing she was growing up and he couldn't always shield her, as much as that hurt, he said, "The Decepticons lined them all up and, one by one, asked them to join the Decepticons. If they didn't . . . they were shot on sight."

Miko and Raf's eyes popped, each rivaling the other for the largest size. "They did?" Miko finally squeaked.

Raf sputtered, or tried to speak at least, but it was only Jack that could find his words. He leapt to his feet, bursting, "But—That's not right! They couldn't just—"

"They could and did," Wheeljack said bluntly. He gave the horrified human a nod of his helm. "Decepticons don't have rules. If you don't join, you're the enemy, and you're scrap."

Jack glared angrily a moment, more angry at what the Decepticons had done than Wheeljack, before he finally muttered, "And where were the Autobots in this? Surely they would have put up a fight!"

"You forget," Wheeljack said with a shrug, "this was way early in the war. Prime hadn't been Prime that long and was still picking up generals at this point and corralling who he could to the Autobot cause." He glanced over at the Prime, but he didn't argue. "The attack on Crystal City was sudden—no one could have predicted it, and at that point I doubt Optimus would have had enough warriors to hold out the Decepticons—especially with Devastator."

Jack's hands clenched, and he turned his face away. "It's always been that way, hasn't it?" he muttered. "The 'Bots have always been outnumbered by 'Cons."

Wheeljack nodded, luminous blue optics blinking. "You got it." He watched the human sink back to a sitting position.

Miko glanced at Jack before looking back to Wheeljack. "So, you were a Shockwave favorite?"

Wheeljack nodded. He vented sharply once. "Yeah. Though I guess he was just picking the brightest minds and the mechs who could handle the most punishment."

Miko blinked. "Punishment?"

Wheeljack gave as light a shrug as he could. "Yeah. Torture chambers."

Her jaw literally gaped now. She jumped to her feet on the couch. "The torture chamber?" she squeaked. "What did they do to you? How did you get out? Were you rescued? What was the worst thing they did?"

Wheeljack cringed in remembrance before shaking it off, blotting it from his memory. "Safe to say," he told her, "Shockwave is _sick_. And that's ALL you need to know about my time in the torture chambers."

"But—"

"But nothing!" he snapped a little harsher than meant. He shook his head. "Trust me, Miko, you don't want to get into that—_I _don't want to get into that."

Miko slumped back down to her seat, head tucked dutifully. "Yeah, okay . . . Sorry."

His mouth plates twisted up. "Don't worry about it, Babe." He nudged her for good measure before continuing with, "Well, I did manage to escape. After, eh, I dunno, a week or so I managed to get the slip on the guys moving me from my holding cell to the torture chamber. An Autobot scouting team found me wandering outside of Crystal City."

Miko's big brown eyes blinked wide. "Is that when you joined the Wreckers?"

"Pit no," Wheeljack said with a light laugh. "Kidding me? First thing I had to do was deal with a femme medic that was just a bit too uptight for her own sake. Couldn't do a Primus-slagged thing around her!" Wheeljack crossed his arms and snorted. "She treated me like I was glass. Eventually I had to get the slip of HER and sneak out with a bunch of bots that were heading to a different fort for training drills. That's when I met Bulkhead."

Miko jolted to attention. "You did? What was he like! Was he younger? Was he thinner? Did you guys hit it off? I bet you guys swept that training!"

Wheeljack laughed warmly at her confidence and waved her down. He'd never finish around her question asking! "Easy there, Babe. Pretty much, he asked me what I was doing with them since he hadn't seen me before. I told him about the devil-femme-medic who I swear to this day took lessons from Ratchet—" The medic gave an unamused grunt. Wheeljack grinned. "Heard he was a construction worker. He was real amazed to hear I was a scientist. He'd never met one before." Wheeljack paused at the fond memories.

"But, besides that, we warmed up to each other real quick. He teased my audio receptors and I got the program terminated shortly later. He was always a big, soft wrecking ball. We trained together, but I always wanted something more. Normal fights and drills . . . they weren't enough for me." Wheeljack shifted before shaking his head. "Bulkhead was willing to go wherever I went since we were best pals, so when I heard about Ultra Magnus and his Wreckers, I knew suicidal stuff like that was for me. And THAT is how I joined up with the Wreckers, as anti-climactic as that is."

Miko grinned. "Nah, it was great!"

Wheeljack snorted. He gave a gesture towards the gaming system. "Now, Miko, are you going to let that last loss to Jack go unchallenged? I'm getting myself an energon cube."

Miko's eyes popped. "I forgot!" and she whipped around to point an accusing finger at Jack. "I totally owe you a smack down after that cheap stunt you pulled!"

As Jack and Miko erupted into a flurry of words and snatching up remotes and turning on the games, Wheeljack just rolled his optics and began to stomp down the halls to get an energon cube. All that talking could dry up the vocals, and he was bound and determined to drink an energon cube without Ratchet's disgusting medical tampering!

"You changed after the torture chambers, didn't you?"

Wheeljack paused and looked back at Arcee. She had her arms crossed, but not aggressively this time. In fact, a slight pucker of her brows was even visible.

Wheeljack gave a nonchalant shrug. "Any bot that could survive Shockwave would." She studied him for a long moment, and Wheeljack passed a servo over his face and gave a heavy vent. "Look . . . I know I was an aft. I'd blame it on the high grade, but that wasn't it. It was just me. So, thanks for trying to talk some sense into me even though I didn't listen."

Arcee shifted. "You're welcome," she said, almost warily, as if she wasn't sure what to make of him. Sensing her discomfort, Wheeljack felt his lips drawl into a slow smile.

"What?"

Her optics narrowed in thought, and finally, she asked, "What were you like? Before the war, I mean."

That slow smile drew out some more, and he held out a servo, "Maybe if you joined me for a batch of high grade in the Jackhammer, I'd be willing to tell."

She stiffened as if shocked and her optics widened. She frowned severely then. "Not in a million vorns," she scoffed and turned on her heel and walked back into the main room of the silo.

Wheeljack blinked at the vacant hallway and the snorted.

_Femmes . . . I'll never understand them!_

* * *

><p>Wheeljack lied awake on his berth, staring at the ceiling of the Jackhammer.<p>

After transforming earlier that morning without Ratchet's okay, he had been forbidden to transform until Ratchet cleared him. He had to wheedle and argue with Ratchet until both were bellowing at the top of their lungs before he was allowed to go up to the Jackhammer. In short, Ratchet had gotten fed up and told him to get out.

So now, Wheeljack lied on his berth, spark aching low. Primus, he missed her already? His chronometer read just a little over an hour since she had left for her house with her host mom. Irritably, Wheeljack rolled over and told himself to recharge.

He lied there more. He shifted, slightly uncomfortable with the pains in his chassis, and instead of relaxing, he only seemed to get more and more tense as the slow minutes ticked by. Wheeljack vented and rolled over again, spark pulsing its insatiable longing for a certain human girl.

It took him another hour of badgering and bantering back and forth with himself before Wheeljack told himself, _All right, just this once. Just don't tell Ratchet._

Getting up from his berth, Wheeljack sneaked down to the road and, despite the pain he suffered by transforming when he really shouldn't be, he drove himself into the city of Jasper and Miko's subdivision. The pressure squeezing his spark slowly faded some the closer he got, and Wheeljack pulled up and parked at Miko's curb.

_Better._

Relaxing back on his haunches as well as he could, Wheeljack struggled to settle down into a recharge. Finally, still a little uncomfortable, Wheeljack said to himself, _Okay, just a little bit closer . . ._

Wheeljack pulled into the driveway fully, parking next to Mrs. Davis's car. Turning off his lights yet again, Wheeljack told himself to recharge. It was twelve at night! He had missed enough hours of recharge as it was.

Still, after figuratively tossing and turning some more, Wheeljack felt the longing pulse of his spark pulling him towards the little house in front of him. Finally, Wheeljack told himself, _Just a LITTLE closer . . . just a little . . ._

He turned on his engine again, praying to Primus that Mrs. Davis didn't care that much for her grass as he pulled onto the law precariously close to the house and situated himself beneath Miko's window.

_There. Yeah, that's better._

This time Wheeljack finally sank into comfortable stasis. Mrs. Davis, hearing the car engine, woke up and looked out the window, but didn't find anyone there. Puzzled, she went back to bed.

It wasn't until morning when she went to get the paper that she saw an adorable sight parked beneath Miko's window.


	20. Weathered

"What's wrong, you little emo? It was all in fun! Come on, I think you look good in a dress!"

Miko ground her jaw, staring at the hideous picture that was "supposed" to be her. If the painful yellow they used for her skin wasn't racist enough, the chop sticks and rice were. Not to mention they had her in some girly-butt dress that was covered in lace and-oh God, were those high heels? Miko felt her face burn at what had to be a face that had been drawn by a five year old, stepped on, and smeared with cheese. Or something . . . icky.

The gum in Miko's mouth was ground between her teeth. "You take that back, Brittany!"

When she shoved it across the table and away from her, Brittany just arched an offended brow, flipped that stupid blond hair, and pressed a hand to her chest. "Aw, now you've hurt my feelings, you little crackpot! Tell me you love my drawing!"

"I hate it!" she snapped. She glared from her lunch table, isolated from the others as Jack and Raf hadn't gotten there yet. "Leave me alone!"

"Then tell her you love the drawing," Candace pushed, also tucking her blond hair behind her ear.

"Yeah," Tiffany added, wrinkling her nose. "Say it. Tell us you LOVE it."

"I said I hate it!" Miko growled again. "Leave me alone! Go eat your own fragging lunch!"

Miko felt her chest starting to throb some at the mere stress of dealing with these girls again. Discreetly, she rubbed a little at the sore ribs. Stupid four more weeks to heal . . .

Brittany was the first one to push her shoulder, saying, "Say it! Tell me you love it, you freak!"

"I said I hate it!" Miko repeated again. "Now get away from me, you sack of crap!" In saying so, Miko jumped up, snatched her gum out of her mouth, and stuck it in Brittany's hair.

The shriek she gave was unearthly on any planet, INCLUDING Cybertron.

* * *

><p><em>Wheeljack can you get me out of detention?<em>

Wheeljack looked up from the floor, once again trying to ignore Ratchet's incessant prodding and scanning. The doctor wasn't a bit happy that he had gone and parked himself at Miko's house, but Wheeljack didn't regret it for an instant. Instead, he sent a text back to Miko.

_Whatd you do this time?_

The indignant reply was this:

_Nothing they didnt deserve!_

Wheeljack chuckled to himself at the thought of Miko taking on her bullies, but then, he cringed to himself. Primus knew he hoped he hadn't hurt her ribs in the process . . .

Instead, he sent her another text, conspiring how to get away from Ratchet . . . Well, unless Miko DESERVED to be in detention.

_So what happened?_

_They drew an ugly picture of me_

Wheeljack rolled his optics and sent back: _Is that it?_

_They had me in a dress! And they drew my skin yellow and messed up my face!_

Wheeljack's lips thinned a little. _So what did you do? You hit them?_

_Not at first_

Wheeljack rolled his optics again. Well, that was an improvement, he guessed . . .

_Miko what did you do_

_I stuck gum in her hair_

Wheeljack busted out laughing before he could stop himself, and at a particularly angry glare from Ratchet, tried to stifle it and sniggled to himself. Tucking away the amusement, Wheeljack pinged her back:

_So what happened_

_She screamed. That was funny_

_ Miko . . ._

_Look can you just pick me up? My hairs ripped down and im covered in chocolate milk and my ribs hurt_

Wheeljack's optics blinked stupidly at her last text.

CHOCOLATE MILK?

Instead of dwelling on it too long—his processor hurt just TRYING to wrap his mind about what must have happened—he just sent back:

_Okay coming in ten_

_Thanks_

Wheeljack looked up at Ratchet who was still running his check-up on his condition, and Wheeljack wondered how to shake the stubborn medic. Could he get the slip of him? Nah, he'd catch him and hog-tie him no matter the consequences . . . And then, it hit him—

Why not play on Miko's condition?

"Hey, Doc," Wheeljack said. The CMO turned with a scowl. "Miko's stuck at school without a ride cause you're holding me up. And her ribs are killing her. I feel fine, lemme pick her up."

Ratchet narrowed his optics at Wheeljack. "I'LL be the judge of how you feel."

Wheeljack snorted and stood up. "Doc, seriously."

Ratchet's hands clenched, and he finally vented sharply. "Fine! But just this once!"

Wheeljack grinned. "Good!"

Transforming and gunning it out of the silo—ignoring Ratchet's shout to take it easy on his engines—Wheeljack hurried his way to the school. However, on the way, he saw Bumblebee and Arcee coming back. Jack's head turned back to Wheeljack as they passed.

_Scrap. Now they're gonna tell the Doc what happened and I'LL be the one taking the heat for busting Miko out._

Brushing that off as well as he could, vowing not to set foot in Ratchet's medical bay again, Wheeljack drove through Jasper and parked himself outside the school. In a minute or two, Miko tromped out, piping hot under her collar with anger, and . . . damn, she really WAS covered in chocolate milk. It was drying up now, staining the front of her shirt and hair, clearly wiped away from her face. Her hair was ripped down out of their standard puffy pigtails, and because of that, her hair looked ridiculous. She shoved her stuff into the backseat and collapsed into the front seat with a disgruntled expression.

Wheeljack pulled out from the curb and took the way to her home. "So, what happened? I don't think those texts covered all of . . ." he glanced at her again, "all of THAT."

Miko heaved a sigh and rubbed her chest. "Look, they drew this stupid picture of me, all racist and making fun of me and crap. And when they wouldn't leave me alone I stuck gum in Brittany's hair." It took all of Wheeljack's self control not to laugh at that again. He could only IMAGINE what the sticky substance could do to a human's hair.

Miko rolled her eyes. "So she screams like a bitch—"

"Words," Wheeljack warned.

Miko huffed another sigh. "So she screams like a GLITCH and—"

"Now you're just being a smart-aleck," Wheeljack grumbled, twitching his rearview mirror.

Miko just rolled her eyes again. "Like I said, she screams like a glitch and takes my chocolate milk and dumps it all over me! So I jump up to let them have it, but that stupid Candace pulls my hair and then Brittany tells me I'm going to get it now that my pedophile guy isn't here to cover me."

Wheeljack felt a sigh decompress from his body, and he said, "So you took insult for me and decided to punch her?"

Miko sniffed. "Of course I took insult for you, but also for me. And NO I didn't hit her yet, I just took my sloppy joe lunch and dumped it down her shirt, that was showing way too much boobs."

A tremble worked its way through Wheeljack as he struggled NOT to laugh at such an inappropriate thing to do, but the thought of hot, sloppy joe sandwich going into some girls shirt was almost too much for him to bear. Finally, mustering up the courage to say something, he managed, "So what happened?"

Miko shrugged. "Called each other some names, hit each other, pulled some hair, I twisted Tiffany's nipples, smacked some faces, got hit in the ribs, teachers took us apart, you know the drill . . ." She grinned suddenly. "They got detention too. And are STILL in detention."

Wheeljack struggled not to laugh, failing miserably. "Miko . . ." Oh Primus his ribs were starting to hurt from trying not to laugh. A shudder went through him, and the silent guffaws finally started to slip out as he stuttered, "Miko, you shouldn't have—oh frag, what am I saying, Babe, that's pure gold right there!"

Miko snorted when she started to laugh, and she shook her head. "Jackie! Bulkhead would have tried to lecture me over that, and all you can do is LAUGH?"

Turning into her subdivision, Wheeljack laughed, "Babe, I can't help it! That's just so fragging funny! Only YOU would be low enough to twist a girl's nipples in a cat fight!"

Miko laughed before wincing and rubbing her ribs. "Yeah, get me laughing after I'm healed up, these stupid ribs are going to be the death of me . . ."

He pulled up into her driveway. "Get out and clean yourself up, bad girl. You stink. Like chocolate milk."

Miko poked her tongue out. "Fine. Just so you know, you stink too. Like GASOLINE."

Wheeljack sputtered, and when she made it to her porch steps before he gathered his bearings, hollered out, "What did you expect me to smell like? I'm a CAR!"

* * *

><p><em>Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.<em>

Wheeljack sat in the blistering sun, cooling fans on since he had cooked so long in the heat. His metal would burn Miko's hand at the touch right now. After brooding to himself, he began to sharpen his blades, dulled from the constant combat.

_Scrape. Scrape. Scrape._

He worked diligently, using a Cybertronian whetstone to hone the edge of his katanas. His strokes were broad and firm as he did so, channeling his restless thoughts into productive activity.

_Scrape. Scrape. Scrape._

Absently, he rubbed the sore spot in his chassis and resumed his work.

He was in the heat of the day. He was fairly sure the sun rays would dry him out until his paint cracked and starved for moisture like the expanse of Jasper, Nevada. He was draining his coolant systems quickly, but he found he rather liked the heat. It was refreshing in a rather twisted, suffering sort of way. Maybe he missed braving the raw elements of Cybertron with his Wrecking crew. Topspin would be so proud of him.

Wheeljack snorted to himself at the thought, and his audio receptors picked up the sound of light footsteps.

"Enjoying yourself? Or was that expressing how much you'd rather I not be here?"

Wheeljack's mouth plates curled up at the sound of Arcee's voice. Taking a short hiatus, Wheeljack drawled a slow smile to her as she knelt on a knee next to him. "Nah," he told her easily. He accentuated how much he didn't mind by giving a slight shrug and saying, "Just wallowing in the past. What brings you out here? Ratchet get worried that I was too quiet and have you check up on me?" He almost snorted at that thought too.

As he resumed sharpening his katana, Arcee's wry, "Among other things," made his lips pull into a smirk. "What are you thinking about?"

"What, you encouraging me to live in the past?"

She looked out over the rocks. "Just curious," she finally said.

Wheeljack paused again. Glancing over his shoulder, his optics touched the mound of pointlessly stacked stone he had noticed. What he had failed to noticed before glinted in the sunlight, a silver horn, bleached from constant exposure to the sun and elements.

His chassis rumbled. In a nanoclick, he deduced it as the marking stone for one of her partners and the horn as all that was left of him. Fresh. Raw. And he was prodding at old wounds of hers. Yet, she did the same to him. Maybe not in a bad way, but no matter what, if you poked at half-healed scars, it was bound to hurt.

"Just thinking of an old Wrecking buddy," he finally said, resuming his progress on his katana. "You?"

She gave an indefinite and muted laugh. It was almost sarcastic. "Missing an old partner." She cast Wheeljack a sly glance. "Wishing you would talk more."

He flicked blue optics up to her before focusing on his blade again. He grunted. "For my sake, or yours?" There was something about her tone that he couldn't place . . .

Arcee shrugged. "Both. Neither."

Giving a perturbed grumble, Wheeljack flipped the whetstone over from the coarse grit side to the fine grit side, smoothening the sharp blade to micro levels. He had nothing to say. What did she expect him to be, a chatter box? She oughta know by now that he wasn't frivolous with his words.

The dust blew from a scanty wind. It stung Wheeljack's optics and infected his exposed wiring; the grit infested between his plating.

He had nearly finished with his first katana by the time she finally had to say, "Talk to me."

He grunted. "About what? Can't take a little silent comradeship?" He laid aside the first blade and reached for the second.

Her blue and purple optics blinked, staring out over the valley expanse as if she were searching for something. "The silence is too loud. It bothers me."

Before Wheeljack began to sharpen the twin sword, he glanced back to the mound of rocks that her optics seemed to avoid. He nodded his head in the direction of the grave marker. "He a talker?"

Her mouth plates twitched. "Enough to put Starscream to shame."

"Ouch."

He flipped the block over to the coarse side and began to whet his katana against the grit. "Lover?"

She paused. Wheeljack watched her shift uncomfortably, and he almost regretted asking. "No," she finally said softly. She rested her forearm against her propped knee. "He wasn't around long enough for the relationship to really develop."

Now he really did feel like an aft for asking. So, the mech was partner one of two. Wheeljack idly let his mind wander to who the other could be. Then, he remembered—

Tailgate. The bot she'd fragged before. He'd leave that question for another day.

The _scrape_ of the katana against the whetstone was the only sound filling the silence. Finally, Arcee asked, "So why out here?"

Wheeljack shrugged. He lifted his helm to look out over the dry ground that wailed for a rain so it could close the deep fissures, the cracks that bared themselves open like lacerations. "I like it," he told her. "Feels nice to have the sun on me."

"Cooking you like a lobster? You're asking to overheat out here."

Wheeljack's mouth pulled at her tone, and he merely kept sharpening his blade. "The strain feels good. After all," and that twitch of his mouth turned into a comfortable, lazy smirk, "look at me. I'm rusted and weathered. Do I honestly look like I'm gonna sit inside like a pampered little thing? I—" He faltered, and his servos stilled. His gaze was drawn up to the dying grounds that Arcee had regarded before. "I'm barely holding together. Tough and indifferent. Lost." He shook his head, allowing his helm to droop. "A lone wolf that suddenly can't handle being alone."

Arcee glanced curiously to him, optics overshadowed with something, but he couldn't tell what it was because the sun was so bright it haloed her face.

"The land reminds me of myself," he finally admitted. He began to sharpen his blade again, restlessly keeping himself in motion. "Weathered. Dying. Cracked all over and falling apart. Thirsting for something not received. That's me."

The scraping continued. Arcee finally faced him, studying him intently. "Is that what you really believe of yourself? So little? Just the dirt beneath everyone's feet?"

Wheeljack scowled with irritation then. "You don't understand."

"Maybe I would if you told me."

In a flash, Wheeljack had the newly sharpened edge of his blade at her neck cables. She didn't even flinch. Instead, their gazes locked, Wheeljack's cold cobalt digging deep into her icy blue that refused to back down from the challenge. Flipping the tip of the blade up to dig under her chin, he forcefully pulled her closer. Arcee frowned severely, but allowed herself to be pulled.

He stopped when their faces were inches apart. His narrowed optics leisurely focused in on her. "You're a curious one, Arcee," he murmured, hot breath wafting to her lips. She stiffened. In retaliation, Wheeljack grabbed behind her helm and pressed the blade a bit firmer to her, leaving her with no escape. His languid mouth tipped seductively, and he leaned in again. Despite how her body temperature rose with him coming close, she didn't offer him the kiss—her mouth didn't even part. Her lips trembled a moment before she pressed them tight with an unwilling frown.

Wheeljack chuckled, sliding the sharp edge of his blade up her cheek. The tension crackled between them.

"Yes. Very curious indeed."

He backed off then, releasing her. Flipping the whetstone over, Wheeljack began to use the fine side to smooth the jaggedly sharp edge. After a moment, Arcee finally stood to her feet and declared, "I don't have to take this from you."

"You didn't," he replied smartly, "and I noticed. So I backed off."

Her peds didn't move from their position. Wheeljack smirked to himself when she didn't leave. Instead, she walked the opposite way, standing at the edge of the cliff. Wheeljack watched her with a silent bemusement when she mockingly tightrope-walked the edge, little bits of rock crumbling beneath her weight, but she showed no signs of discomfort. He even found himself a little puzzled.

"A little close to the edge, are we?" he quipped.

Arcee smirked. "Does the height scare you?"

He snorted as he finished his other blade. "Hardly. You seem to like to tempt fate, however."

A thoughtful look crossed her features, almost unfocusing her optics as she tiptoed at the edge. "Maybe. It reminds me I'm alive and keeps me from living in the past." She paused, one foot hesitating in the air. Her optics dimmed. "I seem to have a problem of letting go."

Wheeljack sighed. He sat back on his aft and hitched up both knees before leaning his forearms on them. "Me too."

He glanced up, and their optics met. His spark stirred as if from a slumber at the luminous look in her optics. Her peds, dancing at the edge, still refused to take solid ground, even if on the cracked and dying dust.

Wheeljack felt his gaze softening slightly. "Arcee, I . . ." He paused before choosing to say it. "I know it's rough. I really do."

She faltered, nearly losing her balance from the smack of the past in her face. Her optics were unnaturally wide before she narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped.

She half expected him to speak his name, to bring up her first partner, and her rapidly beating spark settled when he merely said, "Hey, we're in the same scrap. We've both lost partners we cared about more than the world. We've both got 'Cons hunting the human we've vowed to protect. We're both out for revenge to settle a vendetta we can't let go of. I understand you more than the rest of the fools in there possibly could."

Wheeljack shrugged, metal baking in the sun. "And, somehow, we've both realized that closing ourselves off from feeling isn't going to help a slagging thing. Whatever's driving you and me, I think it's the same thing." Their blue optics locked in a fiery passion of lost emotions. "Living in the past is only going to consume us. This is where we've gotta put it behind us and stick with our charge. For better, or for worse."

Her ped that hung in the air no longer hesitated. She placed her full weight on the weathered and dying ground, unsure if it could take her weight and still trusting in someone she wasn't fully believing in.


	21. This Is Halloween

"Wheeljack? Know what Halloween is?"

Punching it down the road to the base, Wheeljack snorted at her question. "What the frag is a "Halloween"? Sounds ridiculous."

Miko grinned. "That's kind of the point of all human holidays, Jackie."

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Sounds great. So what's a Halloween?"

"Halloween is my favorite holiday," Miko proclaimed. She lounged back in her seat, watching the Nevada landscape whiz by. "Basically, your dress up in a costume, go from house to house asking for candy by saying 'trick or treat' and you've gotta TP at least one house. Or egg. Shaving cream works, but that gets messy on yourself too."

Wheeljack gave a bemused rumble at the utter pointlessness of the holiday. "Seriously? Okay, then what's TPing a house? And egg and shaving cream?"

Miko grinned. "You throw eggs at someone's car and leave them the mess to clean up in the morning. Same thing with shaving cream, but last time me and a couple buddies did that we ended up having a shaving cream fight and getting it all over each other." She rolled her eyes. "One guy slapped it right into my boobs in my witch costume and I almost broke his nose. TPing is when you throw streams of toilet paper all over a random house. Or a friend's house. Just to piss them off." Miko suddenly jolted upright and snapped her fingers. "Oh, man, Jack has got it COMING!"

Wheeljack chuckled and inwardly rolled his optics. "Seriously? Miko, that's stupid."

"And that's why we do it!" she laughed. "And guess what I have?"

His speed slacked as he briefly wondered what horrors she could have stuffed in her backpack. "What?"

Her face broke an excited smile as she leaned forward and burst, _"The Nightmare Before Christmas!"_

He shamelessly passed a slower car in the silence. "I thought Christmas was in December?"

Miko rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Duh. But this is the _NIGHTMARE Before Christmas._ It's a Halloween movie, Jackie! Tim Burton? I'm going to watch it when we get to the base!"

Chuckling because he could practically feel the excitement rolling off her, Wheeljack commented, "I'm guessing you really like this movie?"

"Like it?" she exploded. "I LOVE IT!" Then, she suddenly leaned forward with a deviously secretive quirk of her brow as she said, "You ready for one of my biggest secrets?"

He revved his engine playfully. "Blinking audio receptors for your secret. What is it?"

A faint blush dusted her cheeks and a rather silly grin crossed her features. "I had a crush on Jack Skellington for the longest."

Wheeljack paused for a moment, looked up said "Jack Skellington" on the internet, and proceeded to nearly bust a gut laughing. "Miko!" he hollered, "he's a skeleton!"

She grinned widely. "I know! C'mon, don't you tell me he's not hot! Pinstriped suit and a bat bowtie?" She snorted she laughed so hard, covering her burning face.

Wheeljack floored it down the long stretch of straight road to the base. "Okay, seriously, Miko, why in Pit did you have a crush on this guy?"

Miko gripped the seat as his speed increased over the 100 miles per hour mark. "J-Jackie, isn't this a bit fast?"

He chuckled, tightening his seatbelt on her. "Hang on," he laughed as the entrance to the base came into sight.

"I'm hanging," she said breathlessly. "I'm hanging."

When they raced towards the entrance, engines screaming, Miko proceeded to add, "Wheeljack, we're getting really close now! Slow down!"

He laughed, recklessly increasing his speed and making Miko squeal. "JACKIE!"

"Here we go!"

Darting at nearly full speed into the base, Wheeljack whipped his wheel to the left and then the right, and bursting into the silo. Ratchet shouted as Wheeljack slammed on his breaks, and they slid sideways to a screeching halt at the opposite end of the silo, nearly on top of Optimus's peds.

Wheeljack hooted as Miko collapsed into helpless laughter, whether from fun or relief she wasn't sure, and the smoke from the ground rose up all around them. Ratchet was hollering at the top of his lungs about how juvenile they were being, but that didn't stop the laughter. Finally they faded down to chuckles and giggles, but a tap on top of Wheeljack's hood made him look up. He felt irritation rise immediately. That Prime was going to be the death of him yet . . .

Transforming up, ignoring the wincing pain in his chassis, Wheeljack held the giggling Miko in his palm. "Yeah?"

Optimus looked pointedly past Wheeljack's shoulder, and Wheeljack followed his line of sight to where black tread marks covered the floor from his flashy entrance. He groaned even before he heard Optimus's words.

"I think it would be best if you cleaned up your own mess, Wheeljack," Optimus stated. He kept his face carefully neutral. "After all, neither Ratchet nor I am your maid."

Wheeljack rolled his optics, grumbling, "Yeah, I hear ya, I hear ya . . ."

Setting Miko down on the couch, Wheeljack arched a brow at her. "So? You never did tell me why you had a crush on him."

Miko crossed her arms haughtily. "How could I not? He's the freaking Pumpkin KING, inquisitive, charming, science-oriented, ambitious, modest, loves deeply, and sings so frikin gorgeous. And he's got a cute dog. Zero."

Wheeljack blinked owlishly at her before rolling his optics. "Right. I think you just have a thing for guys with the name Jack. First this skeleton guy, then me, and now Mr. Darby? Yeah, I think you've got a thing for guys with the name Jack."

Miko blushed brightly and sputtered, "Th-There's nothing going on with me and Jack!" and she whirled, digging the movie out of her backpack. Finding purchase, she brought the DVD out. "Besides," she added, turning to the TV, "Jack Skellington was always MY knight in shining armor. Or a pinstriped suit." She snorted and pushed the DVD into the slot.

Wheeljack watched with bemusement as Miko watched her favorite movie. And, to his astonishment (but perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised) she began to sing the words. EVERY. WORD.

"Boys and girls of every age, wouldn't you like to see something strange? Come with us and you will see, this our town of Halloween! This is Halloween! This is Halloween! Pumpkins scream in the dead of night!" Wheeljack stifled his laughter when she even changed her voice to match which one was singing. "This is Halloween! Everybody make a scene! Trick or treat 'till the neighbors gonna die of fright!"

As this movie educated him on Halloween in less than five minutes, Wheeljack waited impatiently for her Jack Skellington character to show himself. Instead, he got werewolves, witches, pumpkins, things under the bed and on the moon, hanging trees and hanging people, and then, finally, Miko jumped up on the couch, hollering out,

"In this town, don't we love it now? Everyone's waiting for the next surprise! Skeleton Jack might catch you in the back and scream like a banshee make you jump out of your SKIN!"

And, Wheeljack still tried to keep from laughing. She was enjoying it too much, and he knew laughing would just make her mad, but . . . this was ridiculous! Like a child's show! And the animation was awful and choppy, but hey, her favorite was her favorite, and he figured only Miko could have a favorite movie such as this mismatched thing . . . a montage of Halloween and Christmas both.

Wheeljack crossed his arms, leaning on one hip as he watched Jack received warmly for a deathly scary Halloween and an assortment of starry-eyed, ugly as hell witches and a rag doll, and he felt himself puzzled as Jack slipped away from the festivities to a graveyard.

"This is my favorite part," Miko said suddenly, and Wheeljack lifted a brow. Already? Well, suit herself . . .

And, it was another song. Wheeljack groaned inwardly. The thing was like a musical. But, Miko began to sing with the Skeleton Jack, "There are few who deny at what I do I am the best, for my talents are renown far and wide . . ."

And, the skeleton pontificated about how he didn't like his fame-filled life because he was tired of the same old thing. So, he wanted something to fill his life. Still, Wheeljack could only think to himself, just go with the rag doll chick! She'd give him something new, and she seemed nice and on her toes even though she was being a creeper stalking Jack like that, but hey, that was probably flattering to a Halloween town person.

Miko was practically swooning. "Oh there's an empty place in my bones, that calls out for something unknown. The fame and praise come year after year, does nothing for these empty tears . . ."

Wheeljack arched a brow at Miko sitting on the couch who was completely star struck. Yeah, she still liked him. A cartoon skeleton. Wheeljack snorted to himself. Would wonders never cease?

No, wonders didn't cease. Why? Because Skeleton Jack walked all night, found trees with emblems emblazoned on them, opened the door to the Christmas Tree tree, and fell into Christmas Town.

Now, was that not illogical and stupid?

Wheeljack couldn't fathom the movie, especially as Miko burst, "This is the cutest part!" and his rapidly percolating mind had to rewind because Miko had actually said CUTE.

He thought he would shut down when the most obnoxious song he had ever heard came on.

Miko sang with gusto. "What's this? What's this? There's color everywhere! What's this? There's white things in the air! What's this? I can't believe my eyes, I must be dreaming, wake up Jack, this isn't fair! What's this?"

Now THAT was a song to want to make him gouge out his audio receptors. Miko was, however, bounding around and bugging Ratchet and throwing faces at Wheeljack, half the time with her head turned towards the TV in the effort to keep Jack in her sights.

And, this song taught him everything to know about Christmas. It was a good movie for quick studies of stupid human holidays. At least they looked fun.

"Oh look! What's this? They're hanging mistletoe. They kiss? Why that looks so unique. INSPIRED!"

Wheeljack snorted before he could stop himself, but Miko was so enthralled that she dismissed it. Mistletoe? Ha, maybe he could get Arcee beneath it. She'd be pissed. Mistletoe had to top the silliest things humans did for holidays. No, getting drunk for the hell of it on New Year's Day. Yeah, THAT topped them.

So he sat through this ridiculous movie with Miko. Turns out, Jack decided he wanted to take and make a Christmas for himself, coerced all the freaks of Halloween Town to make toys (which were frighteningly sick, Wheeljack was particularly fond of the bat and rat hats. Those made him laugh, though perhaps the best was when Santa Jack gave a kid a head). Shot down by the military—which was also funny, though Miko got mad at him for laughing—and then he goes off and saves the rag doll chick from the Boogie Man, lets Santa Clause fix Christmas, lives happily ever after with the rag doll chick like he had predicted, and then, Miko gave a big sigh.

"I love this movie."

There was a pause.

"Did you like it Wheeljack?"

He rolled his optics and snorted. "Amusing."

There was another pause before a cheerful, "Let's watch it again!"

Wheeljack rolled his optics and jerked a thumb back to the silo. "Look, Babe, you enjoy that. I gotta clean up my tire treads if I don't want to get on the rest of the Doc's bad side."

"Please, you've been all over his bad side for so long you don't have a chance at his good side anymore."

Wheeljack chuckled, bopped her lightly on the back of the head with a smart, "I'll be the judge of that," and headed down the silo halls for the cleaning supplies. However, it was easy to hear heavy footfalls behind him, and Wheeljack stopped on the way, turning around and facing Optimus.

Wheeljack arched a brow. "Yeah? What is it?"

Optimus held his silence until he stopped in front of him. Finally, after a moment, he said, "Wheeljack, I need to have a word with you."

"Clearly you've got it," Wheeljack replied blandly. "What is it?" he repeated.

Optimus paused, and he shifted. Wheeljack's optics alighted to his small shuffle, and he narrowed his eyes. The Prime, nervous? "What's going on?" he repeated, albeit rougher this time with warning.

"It is about Miko," Optimus said sternly, and Wheeljack felt himself stiffen for the attack.

"I can handle it, Prime," he snarled. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither is she, you got that?"

"Over a week ago," he stated, and the look he gave Wheeljack demanded silence. Though difficult, Wheeljack set his jaw and waited. "During the duration of time that you and Miko were separate," Optimus said, "I was the one that took Miko to school. However . . . one day, she lost her temper."

Wheeljack gave a shrug. "So? That sounds like her. What's the problem? Spit it out, Prime, I haven't got all day."

Optimus's gaze was flat. His expression didn't even change at Wheeljack's blatant disregard of respect. "When Miko lost her temper, she became very . . . free speaking. She expressed her . . . DISDAIN for those around her, and how worthless she felt."

Wheeljack felt his optics pop, and his arms slacked. "She . . . what?" His spark throbbed in agony.

_Aw, c'mon, Babe, you know you're better than that . . ._

Optimus nodded in confirmation, but added, "However . . . I do not think that it stems from how we treat her. She also said, and I quote: 'I've always been the failure, haven't I? Just a mistake—"

"Shut it, Prime!" Wheeljack snarled, backing a step away at the words Optimus was saying. He glared, hand slashing through the air. "Miko's better than that slag, and she knows it! Don't you tell me she said something like that!"

Optimus blinked, and that one movement was so full of regret that it hurt. After a moment of tense silence filled with Wheeljack's ragged breathing, a playback of Miko's tear-filled voice filled the secluded hall.

_"A stupid, filthy, pathetic, disappointment of a girl? I've always been the failure, haven't I? Just a mistake! That's why he sent for an American boy, wasn't it? It didn't matter that he wasn't Asian, just as long as he was a boy!"_

Wheeljack recoiled like he had been struck. He staggered back another step, spark hurting so bad for her that he thought he was going to bleed her sorrows. His servos shook.

"She . . . didn't really say that . . ." he finally rasped weakly. He shook his head and looked down on his hands.

_Where did I go wrong? What did I say that made her believe that? Why . . ._

"Her emphasis on the boy puzzled me," Optimus finally continued quietly. "Neither Ratchet nor I could fathom what the importance was, and a quick usage of Earth's world wide web provided us with an answer." Wheeljack looked up sharply. Optimus looked weighted down with years. "It stems from her Asian heritage. In Asian families, the son is the esteemed child, clearly favored above girls for being male alone because they are the ones that will carry on the family's name."

Wheeljack blinked owlishly, too stunned to really comprehend what Optimus was telling him. "Wh-What?" he finally whispered.

Optimus finally released a heavy vent, filled with confliction. "The role of the female is to be passive and to adhere to husband's family, be subservient to the male, perform domestic chores, and bear children," he said, laying the facts out flat to Wheeljack. "The role of the male is to provide for the family. The primary duty is to be a good son; obligations to be a good husband and father come second to duty as son. The son is always favored over the daughter."

Finally, Wheeljack worked some function into his articulators that choked on shock. "What are you talking about?" he snapped. He threw a hand down the hall to where Miko would be happily watching _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ in the other room. "There's nothing wrong with Miko! I don't care if she's not a boy!"

"Wheeljack, you miss the point," Optimus said gently. "It is not you who would care—it is her parents."

Wheeljack sputtered. "But—Mrs. Davis doesn't have any problems with Miko!"

"Her biological parents, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack stared at Optimus with a mixture of horror and confusion. That was just so . . . unreal. They . . . oh Primus . . . He was no one's fool, and against his will, the dots were lining up.

"Shame and guilt are a common discipline to control and train their children," Optimus said quietly. "And, being a female, Miko would be a thing of shame to her father. And if her mother was not able to bear more children . . . or if she died in childbirth . . . Miko would be nothing to her father. Which is why—"

"I know!" Wheeljack burst suddenly, wincing away. "I know! Don't say it!"

Turning from the Prime with conflicted emotions, Wheeljack pressed a shaky servo to his helm. Dear Primus . . . What had Miko grown up around? A hateful father? Did he abuse her? The thought caused liquid rage to pour through Wheeljack's systems. His jaw tightened, and his servos curled into fists. Miko had told them she came looking for excitement—but of course, it was like Jack had said: Jasper, Nevada wasn't the entertainment capital of the world. And Miko's estrangement with her host parents. Miko hadn't wanted to go to Jasper; her father had made her go because he wanted to be seen with a boy, Asian or not, it didn't matter. He just didn't want his daughter, hated his daughter, viewed her as nothing but shameful no matter what she did to please him.

"I'll kill him," Wheeljack muttered, servos clenched so tightly his arms shook in rage. "That fragging bastard—I'll kill him!"

"You will do no such thing, Wheeljack."

"Oh, stuff it up someone else's tailpipe!" Wheeljack snarled, whirling with blazing cobalt optics at the Prime. "Stupid? Filthy? Pathetic? Disappointment? Who do you think fed her those lies, Optimus! You outta your fragging mind? It was that human wretch that's sucking on his own cock!"

Optimus's optics glinted with steely command. "Wheeljack, I will not allow you to harm an innocent life—"

"INNOCENT?" Wheeljack roared. His spark flared to life with aggressive protection for the human down the halls. "Optimus that fucker is anything BUT innocent! Can you even imagine the oppression she lived under with that beast? He could have beat her, and she wouldn't have said anything because she would have thought she had DESERVED it!"

Optimus's optics flickered, and that one movement was all Wheeljack needed to see to know his words were getting to him. "Be that as it may," he said evenly, "I do not believe revenge is the answer, especially after recent events."

Wheeljack flinched minutely but did not stop his tirade. "And like you treating Jack and Raf like the favored sons wasn't helping anything!" Optimus recoiled, optics widening. "Yeah, you heard me," Wheeljack sneered, narrowing infuriated optics to slits. "The FAVORED SONS. You picked Jack to take that fragging Key to get your memories, trusted him above all the others for the task. You even trusted Raf to take down fragging satellites against SOUNDWAVE of all bots! But how do you treat Miko? She's in the way; she's a nuisance; she's just trouble. That's all I hear from you about her! Just reprimands! You never thank her when she does something right! It's always, the music's too loud; she's always putting herself in danger—ha! Like those two boys haven't done the same thing!"

Optimus stared as evenly as he could at Wheeljack, taking in the accusations with a steady poker face. "Wheeljack," he finally said quietly, "I do not condone any of the children racing out to danger. I want to keep them safe—"

"Safe?" Wheeljack interrupted with a bark. "Ha! You can't keep them safe from the 'Cons all the time!" And then, Wheeljack's brows rose before he narrowed his optics again. "Oh, so that's the heart of all of this, is it?" he asked scathingly. "It's you and your damned insecurities. I'm starting to suspect that you keeping her from me in the first place was more out of guilt of not being able to save Bulkhead!" Optimus flinched and recoiled visibly, optics widening. Wheeljack's lip curled. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You've gotta keep Miko on a leash so tight it's choking her just to make sure your little feelings aren't gonna get hurt if she gets hurt. News flash, Prime," and he hit the Prime's chest, "GET OVER IT! Life's a bitch, and the sooner you realize that and get off this fragging kick of over-protectiveness the better it's gonna be!"

Pushing past the speechless Prime and stalking down the halls, Wheeljack fumed, so hot under the collar he was sure he was steaming. But to the Pit with that Prime! Playing favorites as bad as Miko's father did . . . The anger rose again. By Primus if he didn't grind that puny human to blood and dust beneath his heel . . .

He stopped before he walked into the main room of the silo, hearing the movie singing cheerfully about what presents were and what was inside. Miko. She couldn't see him infuriated like this. Taking a deep breath and trying to quell the turmoil of his spark, Wheeljack took several in cycles, steadying his raging emotions. Stepping in, Miko took one look at him and laughed.

"Smooth, Jackie. You forgot the cleaning supplies."

He blinked stupidly at her, then to the ground where the tire tread was still burned all over the floor, and he rolled his optics and forced a grin her way. "Yeah," he said. "Sorry. I'm just being a blond. Be right back."

This time, when he walked back, there was no sign of the Prime. Instead, as he went to fetch something to scrub the floor with, he felt his shoulders tense and throat grow a lump.

_Where did I go wrong? Did I not make it clear enough that you're more special than the world itself? Miko . . . I don't give a frag about what that idiot thinks, you're MINE. Mine. My little girl. Mine . . ._

_ Why don't you realize you're perfect just the way you are?_

His spark hurt. He pressed his hands and helm to the hallway wall, sucking in a tight breath and shoulders shuddering. Optic lubricant burned.

_I'm sorry . . . Where did I fail you, Miko?_

* * *

><p>Strangely enough, it was hearing the awful news from Optimus that was the easy part.<p>

The hard part?

Dealing with it. And, breaking the ice enough with Miko to actually face her and talk about it.

Wheeljack didn't know how to approach her. He couldn't just waltz up and say, "Hey, did your biological dad treat you like dirt?" and he didn't like the idea of beating around the bush. And any time he did try to ease into the conversation, he lost his nerve and blew it off. Every time. Miko was starting to think he was losing his marbles, and hey, maybe he was. For over a week Wheeljack tried to say something, but he couldn't. He honestly didn't want to deal with it. He'd rather live on belying his ignorance to the issue at hand, but all he could think was at the end of the school year, Miko was supposed to go back home to Tokyo, right? Nearly half that time was already up. And he didn't know what kind of situation he was sending her back to.

He drove, circling Jasper restlessly. Some kids playing hooky at the KO Burger were betting on how many times he would drive by. Some kid was getting a killing of money on the sleek Lancia. Several times, deep in his musings, Wheeljack cut someone off and they cursed and honked. Eventually, school let out, and Wheeljack received a cheery text of:

_ Guess who doesnt have detention?_

Wheeljack chuckled, and his engine purred at a red light.

_Good girl_

_ Pick me up back of school?_

_ Yeah_

Wheeljack pulled around to the back of the school, parking on the outside of their fence where Miko came through. As he waited, he shifted on his axels. Curiosity called, and he pinged a message to the Prime.

_Why did it take you so long to say something?_

There was a pause as Optimus assessed what he really meant before he received:

_It was only a week._

_ That doesn't answer the question._

There was a lag in the conversation as Wheeljack waited for Optimus's answer, and he was glad Miko was being a little slow. He wanted to get himself together before he saw her, and he didn't want his processor distracted by what Optimus would say.

_You and Miko were both recovering, and your spark was violate it was so stressed. I did not see reason in bringing up such a subject while you were just starting to get back to your feet._

The Lancia sank down on his wheels. His engine rumbled in silence outside the noisy school before he sent back,

_Fair enough._

Wheeljack's rearview mirrors twitched as he looked for Miko. Where was she? She normally high-tailed it outta that school . . .

He groaned. Frag, had she picked a fight right before she got out? He texted her in search of an answer, but she didn't respond. He groaned on the inside. Did she get her phone taken up too? It would be a long wait if she had gotten detention again . . .

And then, who did he see but Miko, running up with something tiny clutched in her hands and—Primus, was that BLOOD? It absolutely covered her front—no, it covered the bundle. But as she got closer, he saw that she was in fact bleeding from her hands too, and she had a passel of excited kids chasing after her, a teacher too.

He used his hologram immediately for safety's sake and popped open his door. "Miko!" he holler. "What the frag?" When she tried to get in with the bleeding mass that actually seemed to be alive, Wheeljack shut his door enough to keep her from getting in. Blood? All over his insides!

"Jackie, please!" she burst, and to his further astonishment, he saw worked-up little tears beading in her eyes. "You gotta take me to the vet! He's gonna die!"

"What is?"

She shoved the bleeding body forward, and a tail dangled. "The CAT!" she burst. Looking closer, Wheeljack saw that it was indeed a cat, mewling weakly and torn up, patches of thick fur missing completely. "Please, Jackie, we gotta save him, please!"

Though he was inwardly telling himself this was a bad idea—beside the fact that blood would get on his seats—Wheeljack opened up his door and let her clamber in. He buckled her up as she situated the rasping cat.

He set himself on the road for the vet, barking, "What happened?"

Miko sniffled once, neck bobbing as she controlled herself. "A—It was a coyote. It was mauling the little guy so I—I wrestled the cat away from it."  
>Wheeljack grumbled in disapproval, looking at the gashes on the backs of her hands. "Miko . . . You're gonna have to get rabies shots."<p>

She appeared not to hear him as she cuddled the frail cat close. "Stupid coyote. It tried to get me, but my boots are thick. I kicked it real good and it ran off like a whipped puppy. Suck at attacking unless they're with their gang."

Wheeljack vented in frustration as he narrowly ran a red light. The cat's breathing was labored, and he knew it was going to die. Well, it should. But frag it all, Miko had done went and got attached to the slagging thing! He was conflicted at the thought of Miko putting herself in danger against a coyote but utterly proud that she ran it off with one well placed kick. And, she was right, coyote's didn't like attacking unless they were in a group . . . She sure was a spit-fire, a real Wrecker at heart . . .

Miko had her hand on the cat's neck and had it bunched up close to her chest. Her fingers stroked it gently, soothing it, and he heard her murmuring, "You're a pretty kitty . . . You're a strong kitty, hang in there . . . Hang in there, Bulky, hang in there . . . My little Bulkhead . . . You're gonna be all right . . ."

Wheeljack felt her words sock him in his already sore chassis. Oh Primus, she didn't . . . He drove a bit more recklessly than before, whipping into the vet's office.

"You sure Mrs. Davis is going to pay for—"

"She will," Miko burst, and she was already out the door, rushing into the building with the wounded cat. Wheeljack felt his suspension sink so low his undercarriage met the cement. He began to pray fervently.

_Okay, Primus, I've prayed for a lot of things in my lifetime, but this one tops them all. I know I say that every time, but this time it really does. It's not for me this time. See? Not selfish. Just—Just let that fragging cat live! Please, PLEASE just let that stupid cat live, don't let it die, please don't let that stupid cat die . . ._


	22. Glass Bottles

Wheeljack sighed and sank on his pistons.

_Hey, Miko . . ._

Her text back was lengthy.

_Dont ever send a text with just hey miko thats so stupid dont ever do that what do you want?_

Slightly affronted, Wheeljack grumbled and twitched his rearview mirrors to her house. He absolutely glared at the closed door.

_Thanks for the 411. You all right?_

_Fine ribs are fully healed in a week! Finally_

_ Sure?_

_ WHEELJACK. IM FINE._

_ Just checking!_

_ Youve been checking for days_

_ Only 137 hours! Thats not that many days!_

_ Fffft might as well be what is that a week?_

_ No_

_ How long then?_

_ Five days and 17 hours what does it matter?_

_ Thats all week_

_ Im just a little worried_

_ A LITTLE? You act like I really got rabies!_

_ Its just that stupid cat_

_ Hes not stupid_

_ Hes gonna get hair all over my interior_

_ Quit being such a baby_

_ You sure he can be moved that far?_

_ He'll be fine hes tough besides ill carry him_

_ The doc isnt gonna like it_

_ Does it look like I care? Ratch can stow it_

_ Guess so. Ready when you are_

Huffing a little, Wheeljack waited with idle engines outside of Miko's house that Saturday. She had eaten lunch and fed the cat, made sure the cat had went to the bathroom before they left, and now they were going to be on their way to the base.

Once she stopped taking her sweet time and got her aft OUT here!

As if with that one irritated thought, the front door swung open to show Miko with a bundle cradled in her right arm, tail hanging down, and meowing like it was the end of the world. Miko was flushed though, pleased from head to foot, practically GLOWING with happiness as she used her toe to push her guitar out on the porch and lock the door with her free hand. Then, pocketing her keys, she snatched up her guitar and came out to the car.

"Isn't he cute?" she burst, grinning from ear to ear.

"Yeah, adorable," Wheeljack said with as little sarcasm as he could muster. Miko pushed her guitar into the backseat and climbed in the front. She buckled and bit her lip to keep from smiling too big as she stroked the fur on the cat's back.

"That's a good Bulkhead! My pretty kitty . . ."

Oh Primus, the baby talk again . . . Wheeljack utilized his hologram for safety measures and pulled from the curb with a huff. He was starting to think this talking to the cat was worse than her music!

Worse than that, Miko had reported the cat's breed as Himalayan, and what was Wheeljack's bright answer?

_How'd that cat get from the Himalayas to Nevada?_

She'd never let him live THAT one down . . .

As it happened, Miko wasn't diagnosed with rabies, and the cat pulled through just fine. The wounds were mostly superficial though it was stitched up right good. The cat had just bled a lot and made it look bad. The worst was in the neck, but "Bulkhead" would make a full recovery. Yeah, Miko adopted it too. Thing was, it was housetrained so it had to be someone else's, but since it didn't have a collar they couldn't find the owner, and owners never did come looking for him.

So Miko adopted her cat, legally named "Bulkhead" whom she tended to call "Bulky" a lot. Wonderful.

For now, though, with Miko preoccupied with the new cat Bulkhead, Wheeljack let his mind wander—and, when it wandered, he started to feel guilty.

He almost snorted to himself. Guilty. He had nothing to be guilty about! But every time he thought of that stupid Prime it soured in his energon tanks.

Fine. Maybe he had been a little rough on the Prime. But it was true, Primus slag it! And Primus help him if Miko really HAD been abused by her father. That squishy wouldn't be safe even IF Optimus forbade him. Rapidly, Wheeljack's percolating mind thought back to the day Miko had gone streaking in the desert, and he comforted himself with the memory that he hadn't seen any abnormal scars or blemishes on her . . .

A wet waterfall fell over his passenger side window. His hologram's head whipped to the left as Miko shrieked, cat too, when some of it splashed on them.

Wheeljack glared out the window to see the three girls he was beginning to hate with all his life. Brittany, Candace, and Tiffany. All lined up in a row, laughing and pointing and talking in scandalized whispers. All lined up in a row, just perfect to jump the curb and run them all over, yeah, that'd be nice . . .

Instead, Wheeljack rolled down the window fully, leaned over Miko who was calming down Bulky, and barked, "You bitches need to fuck off or you're going to have more than just a door smacking in your face."

Before the three bullies had a chance to process his words, Wheeljack swung his passenger side door open as hard as he could. It bopped Brittany in the face, almost breaking her nose, cracked into Candace's knee and left her hopping, and knocked Tiffany off balance as she got the least of the blow.

Since it was a green light, Wheeljack pulled on away from the curb towards the base on the long interstate, and Miko started busting out laughing even before they were out of earshot.

"Jackie, did you see their FACES!"

Wheeljack chuckled. "They can have some really ugly mugs when they choose," he commented airily.

Then, Miko was gushing to Bulkhead, telling the cat about past problems with the girls and illustrating their victory here today. Wheeljack sank a little on his suspension and glared jealously at the cat from his rearview mirror.

_Stupid cat. Primus, why'd you have to let that thing live? I'm getting booted aside for a CATl_

Wheeljack's outer glower at the cat turned inward at himself again as he wasn't sure if he was angry at himself, the Prime, or Miko's birth father. Hell, he could just be pissed off at everything. Instead, Wheeljack did something he didn't expect of himself-

He swallowed his pride.

Pinging the Prime, he sent, _Hey, sorry for being an aft. I'm just a little frustrated._

There was a lag in between messages, as if the Prime was either busy or just simply shocked by the message, but Wheeljack finally recieved back, _Apology accepted. However, I do believe you made to me a very important point._

_Say what?_

_Your words were very well placed. It caused me to think over these past few days, and I've come to agree that, yes, I have been unconsciously choosing favorites. While I have my own reasons for Jack . . . I have not treated Miko in the same fashion I have the boys. I want to recertify this mistake as soon as possible._

_Can you hold off that talk? I want to . . ._ Wheeljack scrambled for his words, too taken off guard by the Prime's words to really get his processor to function. _I want to see if I can get some of this scrap with her host parents sorted out before anything else._

_ As you wish._

And that surprised Wheeljack too. That the Prime was actually agreeing to something the Wrecker said, in good graces too. This was possibly the first time they had gotten along together. Interesting. Must be a blessing from Primus.

Instead, pulling into the base, Wheeljack's mind immediately turned to the trap he had set for Miko. He just needed the boys here . . .

And, wonderful, there they were. This was going to work out well. Wheeljack let Miko gush about Bulkhead to Jack and Raf, showing them her kitty and preening over the animal. It was almost as if he'd become invisible.

_ Primus help me, I'm jealous of a squishy, half-intelligent feline._

Instead, as Jack and Raf started to race, Bulkhead perched happily on the couch arm, Miko started to hook up her guitar. Wheeljack strode right up to her, picked her up and made her shriek, and stuck her up high on a beam. She screeched before grabbing a hold with fright, eyes popping as she looked down at Wheeljack.

"Wheeljack? The frag are you doing!"

Wheeljack craned his head back and put his hands on his hips. He arched a brow. "Someone is failing her math class."

Her fear seemed to dissipate though she didn't let go of the beam. She snorted. "So?"

"So? You'll fail your sophomore year of high school if you don't pass."

She wrinkled her nose. "So? I don't care." She poked her tongue petulantly out at him. "Now let me down."

"Not until you agree to let me tutor you."

"I don't need a tutor!" she burst. "Look, I'm just not good at math, all right? I'm not some fantastic engineer like SOMEONE I know."

Wheeljack gave a shrug. "That's why you need a tutor. And you're seriously giving up on math before you give it a try?"

"I've tried before and it didn't work," she muttered. "It's not going to change."

"But now you've got a geinus at math instead of a half-clocked human here to tutor you," Wheeljack pointed out.

She narrowed her eyes. "I. Am. Not. Doing. Math."

He shrugged again. "Suit yourself."

Miko shouted several things to him as he walked away, and Arcee elbowed him. "You're just going to leave her up there?"

"As long as she's being stubborn, yes." Wheeljack touched a finger to Bulkhead's head, stroking the cat. "Hey there, you disgusting furball. You stole Miko's affections from me." But, he couldn't help but agree that calling the cat Bulky was an apt choice since it was fat and fluffy. If Bulkhead was a cat, he'd envision it like that.

And so, life in the silo moved on. Miko shouted at the top of her lungs, screaming angrily and using a couple words that Wheeljack had to berate her of, but otherwise couldn't get down from the dizzying height. Beyond that, when Optimus came to investigate, Wheeljack had to explain, and when Optimus didn't approve of his methods, Wheeljack had to convince him-which, wasn't too hard considering Miko's rebellious nature.

In all, Miko sulked for over two hours before she petulantly agreed to work some math problems.

Wheeljack nodded and took Raf's book that was already pre-stuffed with paper and a pencil attached-he wasn't saying that Raf had been in league with him, but he was. He took the calculator, some bandages, science goggles, and took Miko from the beam. Then, he walked to the elevator.

Miko scowled and crossed her arms. "What's with the gear? I'm not doing a science experiment."

Wheeljack shrugged. "You'll see. Stretch out your arms."

She gave him the weirdest look as the elevator took them up to the top of the silo. "What?"

"Just do it, Miko."

Though she eyed him with distrust, she held out her arms. Taking the thick strips of zinc oxide plaster, medical wrap, Wheeljack began at her upper arms and slowly wrapped a good thick layer all the way down to her wrists and around her hands. He flexed her arms just to make sure she could move well to which Miko protested she could move herself just fine. Wheeljack then handed her the saftey goggles that she swore she wouldn't put on, but a threat to pin her down and wrestle them on got her to shut up and wear them.

Then, he turned her around and let her blink stupidly at the set up.

There was a box of glass bottles. Wine bottles, beer bottles, all assortments, and several were already lined up along the Nevada ground. Next to them was a baseball bat, apprehended from Jack, but the boy would also deny being involved in Wheeljack's plotting.

Wheeljack walked out and sat the book and calculator on the ground. He curled a finger. "Come here. We'll do tonights homework first and then get to teaching you the stuff you missed before."

Miko walked over stupidly, sat down, and looked up at him. "Why am I in this get up?"

"Because you," Wheeljack said, crouching down next to her, "are most definitely an interactive learner. I'm not going to get you to learn anything without something in it for you. So. Everytime you manage to do a math problem, I'm going to let you smash a bottle."

Her lips twitched into a grin before she could suppress it. "You are? Isn't Optimus going to get mad?"

"You're wrapped up and safe," Wheeljack pointed out. "And besides, I'm hoping we'll have the grade improved on before Optimus can figure out my methods."

Miko snorted with laughter before glaring down at the book and opening it up to her homework. "Circles are stupid," Miko proclaimed as she looked down on the problems she was supposed to solve.

Her saying they were stupid was what gave him the topic-circles. It was on the tip of his tongue to say they were easy, but he caught his glossia before he made the mistake. Instead of going straight into the problems, Wheeljack wondered how to make this as easy as possible for her.

"Blank sheet of paper ready?" Miko nodded with a wrinkled nose. "Okay. Know what a point is?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not that stupid."

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Got it. Draw me a point and lable it A."

She did it. "Now what?"

"Draw me another point, and lable it B."

She did that.

"Now draw a line to both points. You know what you just drew?"

"A segment."

"Good. Now label it 2 centimeters." When she did that, he added, "Now draw me segment AC and label it 2 centimeters." When she did that, he said, "Now draw me a circle, point A as your center point."

When she did that, she looked up at Wheeljack. "Okay, but that's easy."

"We'll get there," he promised her. "You know all the points that are 2 centimeters from A are going to be on the circle, right?"

"Right."

"That means they've got a fixed distance from A."

"Yeah."

It continued like this for some time. He just kept explaining the language and notation of cirlces for her, the radius and diameter, and tangent lines to circles until Miko was blue in the face and ready to kick him if they didn't start the problems.

Wheeljack almost gave her the bat to crush a bottle just so she wouldn't attack him with it.

"Let's do these," she complained, pointing to the area problems. "These suck like you wouldn't believe."

Wheeljack studied it. "Well, do you know the formula?"

There was a pause. "Formula?"

"Know what a formula is?"

"Yes I know! Jeez, you think I'm retarded or something . . . I just don't know the one for cirlces."

"It's pi times the radius squared. You gotta remember it."

"Sure."

At that flippant word, he made her repeat it to him a dozen times and suffered a kick to the shin in the process.

Then, he made her write it on the top of the paper and draw her circle that had a diameter of 16 millimeters. He told her it was a cookie to keep her sane.

"So what's your radius?"

"I don't have a radius," she complained. "All I've got is diameter."

Wheeljack resisted the urge to roll his optics. "Use your brain, Miko. What's the definition of the radius?"

"Um, half the diameter-oh! Oh! I can just divide it by two right? And stick it in the formula thingy."

Wheeljack resisted snorting. "That's it," he said positively instead. He watched her do the problem, and she showed him her answer. "Is that is?"

"Yup." There was a pause. "That's all it is, Miko. That's area."

She blinked. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "Yeah. That's it." He reached over her head and picked up the bat and handed it to her. "There you go. Smash one."

A giddy grin was playing at her lips. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Miko scrambled to her feet, and with a mighty yell, ran up and smashed one of the bottles with all her might. After staring at the remnants of the beer bottle, she started giggling. And she started giggling so hard it turned into laughter that had tears in her eyes, and Wheeljack could only arch a brow and watch her, wondering if she was still sane.

Miko threw down the bat and walked back over, wiping her tears. "Area is easy. Why'd the teacher make it hard?"

"Cause she's a human and humans are dumb, especially when they think they know stuff," Wheeljack responded promptly. That, in turn, made Miko collapse into giggles again and he had to wait for her to control herself before they could do some more.

After running back and forth with the area problems, Miko decided to save up her tokens and smash a bunch of bottles at once. Then, after struggling through the arcs at first, she got the ease of circle arcs too and was having even more fun. Then, they got into inscribed angles and everything went to Pit.

"What is this?" Miko asked.

Wheeljack shifted onto his other leg. "Okay, draw me a circle and put an angle in it." She did so. "Okay, name the inside of the angle W, for Wheeljack." She snorted, but did it. "Okay. So let's say that W, your inscribed angle, is going to be exactly half of the central angle that subtends the same arc."

"Wheeljack. Big words. I don't know what the hell you just said."

He paused. "See where to two ends of your angle meet the circumference?" She nodded. "The little arc between that is what is subtended by W."

"So it's just the arc in the angle. Got it."

Wheeljack blinked and shrugged. Yeah, she made sense, it just hurt his processor trying to think of it in such plain terms. Subtend WAS plain terms for him. "Now we need a central angle that we'll call M for Miko."

"A what?"

"An angle where the vertex is at the center of the circle."

"Oh my God, kill me now, this is getting confusing . . ."

"Yeah, just give me a chance to explain it . . ."

"Connect your center angle points with the inscribed one, Babe."

Miko said something incomprehensible and muttered, "I knew that . . ."

When she finally did that, Wheeljack pointed a finger. "So. Angle M is going to be exactly half the central angle W. So if M is equal to 25 degrees-write that in-if I said M is 25 degrees, how much is angle W?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Um . . . I don't know half of 25."

"Nah, not like that," Wheeljack said. He pointed. "Look, angle W is bigger than angle M right? Cause I'm bigger than you."

"Right."

"The little center angle is always half of the big inscribed angle. Got it?"

"Yeah, sure . . ."

"So if you, the little M, are 25 degrees, I'm gonna be exactly twice your size. So angle W is . . .?"

"50 degrees."

"Bingo," Wheeljack said, watching her write it in. "Now, hypothetically, if I was 30 degrees, how many degrees would you be?"

"15."

"You got it, Babe," he said easily. "Now you're gonna kill me, but . . . Draw me another circle, and this time when you draw the inscribed angle, let one side be the diameter. Got it?"

Her nose wrinkled. "I think . . ." She drew it. "Like this?"

"Yeah. Now make that angle R for Ratchet, and . . . and then drop a line for your radius. You'll make a triangle."

"Aw, shit, here comes the stuff I hate."

"Language."

"Stuff it up your tailpipe."

Wheeljack vented and rubbed his brow as she drew it. "You know what kind of triangle it is?"

"No. And I honestly don't care."

"I don't either, but you can pretend to care long enough to pass your class. It's an isosceles triangle."

"Great."

"See these two parts of the triangle?" and he pointed to the two smaller, congruent sides. "Know what those are?"

She paused. "Are they radius?"

"Right on. Okay, the two sides are congruent so these two angles are congruent, right?"

After a minute of sorting that out, she nodded. "Yeah, that's right."

"So, you know what arc they're both subtending?"

"Quit using that word. Are you talking about this arc?"

Wheeljack sighed again, tempering his patience. "Yeah, that's the one." And, he continued to walk her through it, her sometimes bucking like a wild bull, but she was figuring it out. Slowly.

So then, they moved on to homework which had Miko's head spinning, and they got less problems of this done, but it helped when Wheeljack compared it to pizza. He'd say the inscribed angle was what he cut out of her pizza, and the littler central angle was what Bumblebee cut out of his slice.

In the end, Miko got a really big kick of Bumblebee stealing pizza from Wheeljack.

And, at the end of the day, they did go out and get a pizza for Miko to celebrate getting her homework done. How many bottles were smashed?

57.


	23. Working Out The Kinks

**Author's Note:**

**Hello lovely watchers, glad you're still liking this, and thanks for all the reviews and favorites! :) Just dropping a line, and Merry Christmas! (though, actually, it's the NEXT chapter that's going to be our Christmas chapter)**

* * *

><p>"Miko, just press the gas."<p>

"But what if I hurt you? What if I crash!"

"Babe, if you can't get us moving, we won't be crashing. I promise."

"See? It's safer if I don't press the gas."

"Well, screw being safe. I can't teach you to drive if you don't get me in motion. Babe, we're in the middle of nowhere in the desert, you're miles from the nearest interstate, and the land's flat here. You're gonna be just fine. Now PRESS THE GAS."

Tentatively, Miko pushed the toe of her boot into Wheeljack's gas pedal. Full of sensitive pistons, the Lancia had a touchy gas pedal, and the car lurched. Miko squealed and her foot jumped away and slammed on the brake. They jerked to a halt.

Wheeljack inwardly rolled his optics. "Good job. Now this time, keep going."

"But where do I go?"

"Anywhere," he said, this taxing his patience worse than trying to teach her some math. "There's nothing around for miles. You can't hit anything, I promise. Just go, and steer."

"How do I steer? Is the steering wheel going to be as sensitive as the gas?"

"I can't tell you that. You'll have to get the feel of it. It's power steering, so it should be smooth. The brakes are as sensitive as the gas, as you so graciously demonstrated earlier."

"Sorry. I'm just nervous."

He vented slowly, counting backwards in his head. "Miko, there's nothing to be nervous about. If you SOMEHOW manage to get us in trouble, I can keep us safe, okay? Now get us moving and keep moving. I don't care how slow you go, just as long as you drive."

"O-Okay . . ."

Miko had been perfectly happy sitting in the driver seat, fixing the mirrors and learning the dashboard. That didn't actually require pressing the gas pedal. When it came to that, it was like pulling teeth.

After numerous false starts and countless lurching, Wheeljack finally said, "Miko, stop."

"What? Am I doing something wrong!"

"No," he said with an irritated vent, "I just think I'm going to be sick with all this lurching back and forth. Okay. See where we're pointed? Nothing in sight for miles, right?"

"Yeah . . ."

"I want you to floor it."

"WHAT?"

"I want you to floor it," he repeated. "You need to be able to go five miles an hour without freaking out. Now floor it."

He felt her internal temperatures spike suddenly with fear. "But—But Jackie," she stuttered nervously, hands clamped like vices on the wheel, "I can't floor it! What's going to happen? I don't want to go that fast!"

"Blah blah blah, too bad," he snarked at her. "You hesitated too long. Now floor it. You'll bounce back into the seat, but we'll be perfectly fine, I promise."

"But Jackie . . ."

"You don't trust me?"

She blushed brightly and pulled on her ponytail. "But Jackie, we're going to go so fast . . ."

"I know. That's the point. You scared?"

"Well maybe just a little!"

Okay, he hadn't expected that one. Miko always said she wasn't scared. This was different. "We'll I'm right here to save our lives if you hypothetically do something weird. Got it? Now floor it. 3—"

"But Jackie—"

"2—"

"Wait—no!"

"1—"

"I don't think this is a good—"

"Go!"

Miko quite literally screamed when she banged her foot down on the gas until it hit the floor, and the Lancia took off like a shot. The speed dial began to inch up, but Miko was screaming, "Oh my God, Jackie! Jackie! Jackie, oh my God, let me stop! Can we stop? Oh God, please let us stop, let me stop—!"

Wheeljack huffed at her melodramatics. "Okay, Babe, go ahead and stop," he said with all the calm of the world.

However, when Miko lifted her foot off the gas pedal, she slammed it down on the brakes again, and they jerked, skidding some on the sand, and finally were yanked to a halt. Miko panted, knuckles bleached white on the steering wheel.

Wheeljack paused. "See? We're fine."

"No thanks to me."

"I didn't do anything," he told her. "That was all you." He stopped again, sun baking the hood of the Lancia. "Guess how fast you went."

She made a face. "I don't know?"

"Guess."

"80."

"We got up to about 50." There was an awkward pause. Then, Wheeljack added, "Want to know why you're so scared?"

"Cause I went freaking fast?"

"Nah, it's cause you slammed on the brakes."

" . . . The brakes?"

Wheeljack chuckled at her flat and unamused voice. "Yes, the brakes," he repeated. "Instead of slowing us to a stop, you slammed on it and stopped us real hard and jerked us around and all that good scrap. Now," and he turned himself around for her, "we're going to do this again. Only this time, EASE us to a stop. Don't hit the brakes hard. You have plenty of time to stop."

Her throat bobbed. She wiped her sweaty hands before taking her rigid stance for driving. "Okay . . ."

"3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . go."

They were off quick as a wink again, and though Miko tensed up so much he was sure the strain would snap her in half, she got up to about 50 miles per hour again before hitting the brakes. They lurched a little, but she eased up and they slowly coasted to a stop—that lurched a bit.

"See? Much better."

Miko rolled her eyes angrily and scowled out the window. "Now," Wheeljack said, letting her foul mood pass, "you can go slow as long as you promise me not to stop for half a minute. All right? And you've gotta start using the steering wheel. Turn me left and right. Got it?"

She nodded without answering, straining as she got the car to move. She got them up to a comfortable 10mph before she tried to keep it there, dipping above and below a lot, but for the most part she kept them moving. And, she turned the wheel, sending them weaving left and right some.

"Take a hard right. Turn the wheel as far as it'll go."

She followed his instructions like a paranoid little soldier, squeaking, "Like this?"

They started going in a circle. "Yeah. Just like that. Now turn it hard left."

It took her a lot of pulling the wheel around to get it where he wanted, but they soon started turning circles the other way. "Now straighten your wheels and bring us to a gentle stop."

She did so, managing to straighten her wheels without having to ask if they were straight as they pulled to the smoothest stop she had had yet. Wheeljack grunted.

"See? Easy as cake."

Miko mimicked him angrily under her breath, and he chuckled. "Easy, Miko, relax."

"You shut up and relax."

He inwardly rolled his optics. "All right, take a breather, relax some, and then we'll get to moving again."

And so, it moved like that. He eventually got her going comfortably up to 20mph, but she refused to go faster than that. As it were, it was improvement, so Wheeljack took it in stride and had her drive to the base. She bucked like an angry bull, but after saying she could drive them there all the way at 20mph, she finally allowed him to persuade her. So they found the interstate—where Miko was terrified of running into another car (What was she supposed to do if there was one coming down the opposite lane? Easy, Miko, just stay in your own lane. That's why there's two.) She went at a snail's pace, and cars easily passed her—to which she was afraid of that too (Was she supposed to slow down? No, Babe, just keep your speed. They work around you.) And, eventually, they made it to the base without any mishaps—that is, until they had to go through the tunnel (Will you fit in there? Yes, Babe, I always fit in there. Was she too close to the walls, will she break his side view mirrors? No, Babe, there's plenty of room.)

And it was thus that they finally made it to a lurching halt in the center of the silo.

Miko heaved an intensely relieved sigh when she put Wheeljack in park. "Never. Again," she groaned. She pressed her palms to her forehead that had begun to sweat.

"You did just fine," he told her. "Don't you worry yourself into a tizzy."

"Too late."

She stooped then with a smile, cooing, "Bulkhead! C'mere, Bulky, make me happy, today's been sucky." She scooped up the cat that was purring happily a mile a minute, petting around his stitches and bandages. Honestly, the little thing was making a speedy recovery, thank Primus. "You're so soft and fluffy, Bulky! Yes you are! Want to go plant your butt on Jack's face again?" Miko laughed as she walked off, cat in tow, all eyes for Bulkhead.

Wheeljack sighed as he was overlooked again for the feline. Unfortunately, this gave him time alone to think as the kids played some rounds of that racing game while their bots were out scouting for energon.

_It's been two weeks, Wheeljack. Surely you're not THAT big a chicken. Just talk to her. What's the worst that could have happened?_

Wheeljack cursed himself on the inside as his imagination snowballed downhill—and quickly. There was no way her parents could be as cruel as he was making them, right?

When Miko had to give up her controller to Jack, Wheeljack nudged her. "Hey, um . . . Can I talk to you?"

She cocked a brow. "Talk? We're doing it now. What's up?"

"I, ah, um . . . I—" First thing was first, there was NO WAY he could talk about this with everyone else around. He picked her up, making her holler in protest before giving it up when Wheeljack didn't let her go. He took her to the back of the silo, knelt on one knee, and placed her on the ground in front of him. She crossed her arms.

"So?"

He stared at her a moment. "Miko, how do your parents treat you?" She blinked wide. Wheeljack shuffled uncomfortably, but decided to Pit with it, he might as well go blazing in gung-ho. "Miko, Optimus told me what you said when you lost your temper at him last month." Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember; then, her eyes got huge. Wheeljack nodded. "I—I'm not taking that lying down. Did your father tell you those things?"

Her jaw snapped tight. "I don't know what you're talking about. Life in Tokyo's been just fine. Piano lessons, got my first electric guitar, two pure bred cats, straight A's—"

"That's how it is on the surface," Wheeljack interrupted, resting on both hands. Miko blanched, but still glared at him, hating his prying. His blue optics whirred. "Miko, that's all you've ever told us. If life back home was so great and perfect, why'd you want to become an exchange student?"

Her hands fisted, but for once, she seemed to have an eerie control on her temper. "It was boring at home," she said, brown eyes narrowing at him. "I—"

"And so you came to Jasper Nevada," he reminded her with a mistrustful quirk of his brow. "Miko, that's not gonna fly. The most excitement in this town is counting tumbleweeds. If you were looking for excitement, you'd have gone to some big city, something like New York. Now stop lying to me."

"I'm not lying!"

"Well I think you are," he said bluntly, optics flashing down at her. "Fess up. What's going on, Miko?"

"Nothing!" she snapped. Her nostrils flared with an extremely controlled breath. "Wheeljack, you don't even know what you're talking about. You—"

"That's why I'm asking!" he exploded. He leaned down closer, barking, "Miko, you called yourself stupid, filthy, pathetic, and a disappointment! Do you think I can honestly take that lying down? And what the hell did it have to do with you being a boy or not?"

"It's none of your business!" she shouted right back. She rocked back on her heels, ugly red splotching in her cheeks. "There's nothing wrong, Wheeljack, now leave me alone."

He slapped his hand in front of the way out when she tried to leave. "No," he said seriously. "I want the truth, and I want it now. This is something big, and it's affecting the way you look at yourself, and I'm not going to stand for it. You got that?"

"Just back off!" Miko pushed around him, shouting, "Leave me alone! I don't need your help!"

Wheeljack recoiled like he had been slapped in the face. He stopped her again, and hurt by her words, growled, "Yeah? Is that it? Did he hate you because you weren't a boy? Did he hurt you? Did he ever beat you, lay a hand on you, anything?"

Miko jerked back in hurt shock at his words, water pooling in her eyelids. "No!" she yelled at him, hands clenching. "Do you honestly think I'd just stand there and take it like a bitch? He never beat me, so stop prying where you don't belong!"

This time, he let Miko head back to the front of the silo without a fight. It hurt. By Primus, it hurt so much that she didn't want his help to sort through this stuff. Maybe it hurt even more that she didn't even trust him enough to tell him the basics of the situation, didn't even trust him enough to confide in him and have someone to lean on. But, by her aggressive response, she was clearly hiding something. And he had lost his temper when she wouldn't share.

Wheeljack groaned, dropping his face into his palms.

_Primus, why am I such an idiot?_

* * *

><p>"So what's up with you and Miko?"<p>

A week later, and Arcee was actually approaching him with conversation. Granted, this conversation was set to pry on him and Miko, but hey, she approached him. That was improvement at least.

"None of your business," Wheeljack finally muttered, rubbing a tired hand across his forehead.

Arcee simply made an unconvinced sound, saying, "So you two had a fight. Get over it."

"It's not just a fight," Wheeljack growled at her.

Arcee glanced across the silo to where the other bots were before looking back up at Wheeljack. "All right," she said more warily, "what is it then if it's not just a fight?"

Wheeljack scowled, put his hands on his hips, and turned away. "Look, I can't share it with you, not the others either, so don't ask."

"Well SOMEONE'S got to help you get your sorry aft back on good terms with her. She's depressed; you're depressed; and your depression is getting everyone else depressed and I have to put up with these folks every day of my life. And you're obviously not trying to fix it."

"I been trying to fix it for three weeks now!" he snapped at her, blue optics gleaming. "Pit, I know I can apologize for losing my temper, but—"

"You LOST your temper at her?" Arcee interrupted, optics widening.

He scowled again. "Look, you don't know what we were talking about, so don't even go jumping to ridiculous conclusions."

"You don't EVER lose your temper at your human partner, no matter what," Arcee persisted stubbornly. "What could possibly have been so bad that you lost your temper?"

"Nothing you need to know," Wheeljack repeated. He crossed his arms, glaring down at her. "And who are you to tell me not to lose my temper? I bet if Jack started prying about Tailgate you'd clamp up tighter than a vice."

As he said that, he saw the unholy wrath rising in the femme's optics, but something suddenly connected in his processor—

He had been prying. That was why . . . But still, he had a feeling that Miko would sooner go to the grave with her secrets and never be ready to share them. In fact, he was certain she would use that excuse every time to avoid the subject—she wasn't ready to face it. He was going to have to pry it out to get answers, but . . . he didn't want to risk jeopardizing their strong friendship.

"Look," he interrupted before Arcee could shoot back something nasty. He held up his hands. "What am I supposed to do if she doesn't trust me with something that's clearly messing up her mind?"

Arcee looked at him warily, brow pinching as she considered this carefully. "I suppose you'll just have to give her a little more time," she finally said. "Just show her that you're trustworthy."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics. "Arcee, I've ran off her bullies more times than I can count, I've kept her secrets even all of you don't know, I shielded her from a grenade, and I took a blade to my spark chamber. What MORE do I have to do to gain her trust?"

Arcee sighed and shook her head. "I . . . I don't know. But you can't force her to tell you anything."

"I know that."

She looked up at him suddenly. "Then remember that the next time you're going to talk to her." Their gazes caught, and Wheeljack once again found himself impressed by this formidable warrior. The moment stretched a little, to which Arcee shuffled her feet and had to look away, but she was saved by Optimus calling for her to be ready.

The trance was broken. "And apologize," she tacked on as an afterthought. Her lips screwed up into a smile. "That's always a good place to start." She turned to join the others at the humming ground bridge, but she suddenly turned around. She jabbed her thumb behind her. "Hey, you want to come with us? We're hunting down M.E.C.H. and Optimus's doppelganger." When he hesitated, she gave a slight shrug. "You won't find a better punching bag, and it'll help clear your thoughts."

He smirked. "Then let's go."

He had been cleared several weeks ago, and Miko had been cleared as healed this week. It was going to be good to get back into action again—he was surprised he hadn't missed it sooner.

Instead, he was set a route in the dark of night as they tried to track down where this Nemesis Prime had gone. Without ground bridging technology, M.E.C.H. clearly had to be in driving distance of the last two incidents—Arcee getting blindsided by him set Wheeljack's energon boiling, and an attack on some human base. Things were only a hair more complicated with the government hunting them down, but Wheeljack wasn't too worried. He just wanted to wet his blades with some blood tonight and get back in the groove of being a Wrecker.

Rendezvousing at the last coordinates Bumblebee had been when they lost contact with him, Wheeljack whipped out his blades and his battle mask slid into place when they split up on the search for the twin. It'd been a while since he'd thrown down with the Prime, eh? This would be a good warm up.

It was quiet. That much was a bell ringer for even Wheeljack as he kept especially alert for this character. The stars didn't twinkle, the moon didn't shine—clouds rolled overhead, only small spits of light seeping from between the clouds. His blades glinted in the manmade light as his glowing blue optics roved over the area in search of the imposter.

He heard a just a nanoclick before he could do something—footfalls in a run and then a body slamming into his.

The sheer force and size of the machine that hit him made Wheeljack grunt low, and he lost his grip on his swords sometime when they crashed mightily to the ground. The lights were blocked out by large cylinders, and Wheeljack jerked to his feet in the shrouding darkness.

A flash of yellow optics, and Wheeljack felt a hand clap against his left audio receptor. Roaring in pain and disorientation, Wheeljack fell back with the urge to let his sensors reorient themselves. A blow to his gut, and Wheeljack anticipated where the attack had come from and gave a mighty backwards slap. He clocked his foe under the jaw, and when the body reeled up and coiled to keep from falling, Wheeljack hit it again, this time making purchase with the softer plates of the belly. His knuckles drove into the weaker spot. There, that should wind him and give him a chance to recalibrate his fritzing systems—

Instead of winding the bot, it seemed to ignore all sense of pain and surge forward again. Two hands clapped on either side of Wheeljack's face, taking advantage of his highly sensitive and large audio receptors. Wheeljack cried out in pain, staggering back a step with disorientation as his audio receptors rang shrilly and his optics fritzed with static. For a second, he saw a fist come flying up to him.

_Well, my day just keeps getting better and better._

The punch easily interrupted his sarcastic thoughts. It hit under his chin, and Wheeljack kissed the floor with a mighty crash.


	24. Without You

**"Sing something new  
>I have nothing left<br>I can't face the dark without you  
>There's nothing left to lose<br>The fight never ends  
>I can't face the dark without you<strong>

**I wanted to forgive  
>I'm trying to forget<br>Don't leave me here again  
>I am with you forever, the end<strong>

**Holding the hand that holds me down  
>I forgive you, forget you, the end<br>Holding the hand that holds me down  
>I forgive you, forget you, the end."<strong>

**_Without You_Breaking Benjamin_  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"What do you mean you're going back to Tokyo!"<p>

Wheeljack whirled around at the offending little human, and she just rolled her eyes while she drew a picture of Bulkhead licking his paw—a cat that Ratchet was still not happy that it was staying in the base. Still, Mrs. Davis didn't want it in the house, so this was the compromise. "Duh," she muttered, squinting her eyes and working hard on his tail. "I wasn't going to be spending Christmas with the Davis's. I'll be back home for that."

Wheeljack's jaw dropped. "Seri—You—Seriously? Y—No."

"Yes."

He sent Arcee a helpless and bewildered glance, but the femme just shrugged. So did Bee. "But I thought—I thought you were going to be spending Christmas here! Y-You know, with us! With me!" Actually, it hadn't once crossed his mind that she would be going back to Tokyo, and it hadn't once crossed his mind about Christmas—but now he had worked himself into quite the lather over sending her home while he was still unsure about the situation with her parents. Or parent. If she had both or what she had, he didn't even know!

Miko looked up then, but she just grinned the way she did when she had heard about him getting his tailpipe kicked by Nemesis Prime. "Aw, c'mon! I'm sure Ratchet could just zip you on over in a ground bridge! Man, I bet you'd LOVE Tokyo!" Then, she frowned in sudden thought and backtracked. "Well, maybe not. After all, you might not like the crowds."

He'd hate the crowds. And then, it hit him—CHRISTMAS. He hadn't even gotten her a gift. Well, he wasn't even sure what he SHOULD get her. Or could.

"Well . . . I . . . You—Grah!"

Wheeljack stomped off, brooding to himself as he always did when he got angry. Send her back? He couldn't just let her go back! What if she was walking into . . . into . . . well, into something bad! He grumbled to himself, taking the elevator to the top of the silo.

Then, he berated himself for letting his imagination run off the deep end again. But what was he supposed to think? He couldn't just ask her, she wouldn't tell—even after he had apologized for losing his temper, she still said it was none of his business! How was a mech supposed to take that? He'd done so much for her, given her some of his deepest secrets, and she still wouldn't open up to him?

Wheeljack groaned and leaned against the Jackhammer for a moment, wrestling with what he wanted, what he knew was best, and Miko's wishes. There didn't seem to be any even ground for them.

"You ever tried compromising?"

Wheeljack jumped, whirling around to see, ah, Arcee. He seemed to be chatting with her more often than not lately. He quirked an eyebrow and leaned his back against the Jackhammer as he watched her approach. "Oh? What do you mean?"

"I mean with whatever's going on with you and Miko," she said bluntly. He narrowed his optics. She crossed her arms and sat on a hip. "Clearly you two haven't made up," she stated the obvious. "You guys need some common ground. What's so bad that she won't tell you?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Wheeljack said irritably.

Arcee rolled her optics. "I mean, what is it you're trying to weasel out of her? What are you asking that she won't answer?"

Wheeljack stood up straight and glared down at her. "It's none of your business."

"And obviously it's none of your business," she said right back. They glared at each other for a moment. "Wheeljack, has it ever occurred to you that it's a human problem, and nothing you can help her with?"

"Well if it's dealing with the father," Wheeljack muttered angrily, "I'm sure I could fix a thing or two by stepping on him."

Arcee's optics widened. Taken aback, she repeated, "Father?"

Wheeljack scowled and stalked off, hitting the wing of the Jackhammer in irritation as he went. "Look, it's none of your business!"

"Wait—Wheeljack, wait!" She jumped in front of him as he tried to enter the Jackhammer. Her optics shifted, and he realized she was rapidly using the internet. "What do you mean her father? Has something bad happened?"

"I don't know!" he exploded, throwing up his arms. He made a furious gesture. "That's what I'm trying to figure out! Every time I ask if something wrong is going on at home, she avoids the subject!"

Wheeljack pushed past Arcee. He entered his berth room, and Arcee followed. "Wait, Wheeljack . . . Do you really think it's domestic violence?"

He whipped an old blade off the wall, servos clamping down around the hilt and the blade. The blade cut a little he held it so tight. "I don't think so," he finally muttered tightly. "I'd've noticed any scarring on her."

"What if she hid it from you?"

Wheeljack gave a slow and bitter laugh. He slammed the blade back down on its shelf and turned to Arcee. "She's went streaking in the desert. I'd've noticed then. Besides, I have a feeling it's a lot more subtle than that . . ."

Arcee shifted uncomfortably. She looked at him warily. "What do you mean?"

Wheeljack studied the femme a moment before reaching past her and shutting his berth room door. She whirled, on alert.

"All right, don't you tell ANYONE what I'm about to tell you," Wheeljack muttered, jabbing his finger at her. "You got that?"

She nodded strictly. "Yeah, I got it. Now what is it?"

"Stupid. Filthy. Pathetic. Disappointment." When Arcee just blinked nervously at him, he scowled and slammed a fist against the wall before stalking across the room. "That's what she called herself!" Wheeljack bellowed. He glared back at Arcee, optics spitting fire. "THAT'S what she called herself," he growled. His hands tightened into fists. "Now where do you think she's heard that before?"

Arcee's entire demeanor seemed to deflate.

He grunted. "Yeah, that's what I thought too."

Finally, Arcee managed softly, "You don't think that she's just repeating what those bullies were saying—"

"Like Pit!" he snarled. He hit the wall again, venting some of his frustrations. "It'd have to hit a helluva lot closer to HOME for it to rattle Miko. She doesn't give those glitches twice a scrap of her day."

After a minute or so of tense silence, it was finally Arcee that spoke up again. "Look, Wheeljack, give the girl some more credit. You don't honestly think she'd walk back into an abusive place, now would she?"

He glared darkly from across the room. "She walks right into Decepticon hands, doesn't she?" Arcee's face wrinkled. "Besides, if it's her parents, she doesn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

Wheeljack stalked up to her, temper raging hot under his collar. "Arcee, you talk like she's always got a choice, but not when she's still just a kid." He scowled down at her, but she met his leer head on with one of her own. "There isn't a damn thing she can do against her father—and more than likely, she's too afraid to. Besides, since she's a GIRL she'd be worth nothing anyways."

Arcee's optics flickered. "Her being a girl has nothing to do with it."

The anger suddenly drained from him. His optics met Arcee's. "That's what I've been trying to tell her."

Primus, sometimes, when he looked at Arcee, he felt like the world was shifting out of joint. Those passionate blue optics ringed in pink blazed in defiance at the world, at him, and it was the most irresistible thing he'd ever seen in his life. No femme he'd ever met had ever had this much spirit, that much FIRE.

Pardon his human euphemism . . .

But that was HOT.

She backed away before he could get any more ideas. "I've gotta take Jack to work," she finally said.

"He doesn't have to be there for another half hour," Wheeljack said smartly. He gave a gesture. "Sure you don't want to stay for a drink of high grade?"

She narrowed her optics. "Absolutely sure."

She whirled and yanked open the door to his berth room, and Wheeljack watched her waist the whole time, eyeing that whale tail of hers.

The door slammed shut behind her.

* * *

><p>"Okay, Miko, at least give me my peace of mind. A compromise, y'know?"<p>

She scowled. "For the last time, Wheeljack, I'm NOT getting abused!"

Yeah, he got that now. He still felt like it was wrong sending her back to Tokyo, but he couldn't control it either. He promised he'd come visit, and he gave her a ticket to a Slash Monkey concert—they were more popular in Tokyo than America. She'd absolutely flipped off the walls, so they parted on a good note . . .

But that still didn't quell the unrest Wheeljack felt.

He drove around Jasper, telling himself to trust Miko and that everything was fine. But the words "stupid" and "filthy, pathetic, disappointment" all rolled around in his processor.

_I've always been the failure, haven't I? Just a mistake! That's why he sent for an American boy, wasn't it? It didn't matter that he wasn't Asian, just as long as he was a boy!"_

Wheeljack growled, whipping away from the streets and out onto the interstate. He'd never forget those words. A MISTAKE? Did she really think she was one? Primus, she had to believe it if she screamed it in tears at Optimus. Something was WRONG at her house. He highly suspected it was psychological than physical, and for some reason, that worried him even worse.

"Primus slag you to Pit, Miko!" He floored it down the open road to the base, dodging a car here and there. "Why won't you let me help you?"

That was what hurt the most. That she didn't want his help with this problem. That she didn't even trust him to keep her secret and let him be her crutch when she needed support.

Wheeljack screamed into the base, transforming up roughly in muffled frustration. Bumblebee and Raf were deep in a game of racing while Jack was at the table, Arcee nowhere in sight.

"Jack? The frag are you doing?"

Wheeljack looked down the human's work with mild interest, but he got infinitely more interested when a small blush worked its way to his cheeks. "Ah, it's nothing much, really," he said, scratching behind his neck. "When I was kid, I always made Christmas cards for my mom. When I got a little older, I just kept doing it to amuse her. Nowadays . . . I don't know, it's just habit."

Wheeljack grunted. "That's cute," he said gruffly, and he could only think of Miko. Yeah, he'd make her a card. He'd send it to her. If he got it in today and overnighted the letter, it could make it to Tokyo by Christmas. His spark pulsed a little. Ah, Primus, he missed that spunky girl . . .

Wheeljack pointed. "What's that grass you got?"

Jack laughed and shook his head. "It's not grass, it's mistletoe."

A light bulb suddenly clicked in Wheeljack's processor. "Oh, mistletoe, eh?" He picked up the tiny plant, eyeing it closely. Devious thoughts planned in his mind. "Hey, where's Arcee?"

"I'm right here," she said, and he turned to see her walking back into the main room of the silo. She arched a brow as she came in front of him. "What's up?"

Wheeljack grinned and held up the offending plant. "Guess what this is?"

She squinted at it. "Well . . . I dunno, some kind of plant?"

"Yeah. It's mistletoe."

Jack's head suddenly snapped up as he figured out what Wheeljack was doing. "Mistletoe?" Arcee repeated. She frowned. "Isn't that stuff poisonous to humans?"

Wheeljack chuckled. "Yeah, but it's also good for other things," and he hung it on the front of her helm.

She gave him a bored and tired look. "Wheeljack, I'm not a decoration."

"Nope, but this is one I like."

Before she could say anything more, Wheeljack grabbed her wrist, pulled her close, and leaned down and kissed her.

Arcee gave a wild gasp and jerked away. Her optics bulged. "What the frag, WHEELJACK!"

"It's mistletoe," he repeated for her. She blinked stupidly, not understanding. He gave a roguish grin. "It's a human tradition. At Christmastime, if you get caught under the mistletoe, you have to kiss the other person. And you, Little Miss Sunshine, have been caught under the mistletoe."

This time, he yanked her close again but caught a hand at the back of her helm and kissed her again, indulging this time in the sweet taste of her lips. Ah, Primus he'd known she was going to be sweet! He pressed his lips against hers with enough pressure to be mistaken for anger, but with the way she was fighting, that was the only way he was going to keep her there. He smirked into her mouth, spark thundering a mile a minute when she struggled, and like Pit was she hot when she was angry—!

He let her go with a laugh and a grin, and he saw her optics flash with anger. She lifted her fist and let it fly.

CRACK!

Wheeljack gave a shout and staggered back a step, and by the time he had righted himself he saw a piping mad Arcee stomp back down the halls of the base, the offending mistletoe ground to bits at his feet. He spat a glob of energon from his split lip, but he had to grin with eyes sparkling with mischief as he watched her go.

"She's got a mean right hook!"

He turned his star struck grin to Jack who could only shake his head. "Sorry about the loss of your mistletoe," he said with a laugh. He turned, brushing past an amused Prime that had come in when he wasn't looking. "I'm heading out now before she finds a blow torch." And in saying so, he transformed down with an elated whoop, having just a bit too much fun with the femme.

* * *

><p>By Primus, he HATED Tokyo. Why there were so many tollies and people and cars he would never know, and it was pretty, all grand and huge that brought on a touch of nostalgia for Cybertron, but NO. He just couldn't deal with the traffic!<p>

But, he'd promised that he'd come on the 28th since Miko was missing him—and he was missing Miko—but by Primus, he couldn't stay in this city any longer than he had to. He parked on the curb outside of the theatre Miko had told him about, and he'd barely sat there for five minutes before she came flying out to meet him.

"Jackie!"

He couldn't help but laugh at the sight of her when she plopped in his passenger seat. "Hey, Babe, what's up?"

"Christmas was awesome!" she burst. "I got the a couple sets of strings for my guitar! The expensive ones!"

Wheeljack chuckled again as he pulled from the curb. "Is that so?"

"Yeah! And I got the letter! Wasn't that just so cute and sweet of you?" She laughed at him, but by the flush of her cheeks he could tell she was really happy.

"When you gotta be home, missy?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not until nine. Mom and Dad think I'm out with some friends, but when I told them about my mysterious man I was meeting, they gladly told me they'd cover for me." She smirked. "They might be cool, but they're a bunch of romance nuts. They think it's just SO romantic that you came to see me and we're going behind my parents' backs to see each other." She flopped against the seat with a dramatic groan, back of her hand against her forehead.

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Yeah. It's cause I'm a stud." Miko snorted with laughter. "Once we get out of this city and someplace quieter, I'll have Ratchet bridge us back and I'll take you on a flight on the Jackhammer."

Miko gasped. "No way, really?"

"Yeah, really! Installed some seatbelts for you, and now we can do come crazy tricks!"

Miko whooped and pumped her fists in the air. "Sweet! I bet we'll go a thousand miles per hour! How fast can we go? Can we do a barrel roll? What tricks can you do? Can we shoot a mountain with your guns?"

Wheeljack laughed warmly. "Hey, easy, Babe. Slow down."

She squealed. "I don't wanna slow down! Wheeljack, I missed you!"

There they were—the golden words. Wheeljack felt his spark swell at her words, and they didn't stop there. No, Miko had a thousand things to tell him, like what she had for breakfast, what her friends were like, how great it was to be hanging out with them before she went back to Jasper, how her room really hadn't changed even though that guy had been staying in her room, and how epically awesome the Slash Monkey concert had been; and look, she had pictures and videos!

It was nonstop chatter. Still, Wheeljack found it was chatter that he missed, and it was refreshing to his spark to hear her voice again. He really had missed her. As soon as they got out of range of Tokyo, Wheeljack had Ratchet bridge them back to the base.

He took her to the back so Ratchet wouldn't fuss at her incessant talking. "Jackie, you should have been there, the fireworks on the stage were so awesome!" she continued, shifting to the Slash Monkey concert. "They even crowd surfed and I got to touch him! I TOUCHED him! My lead singer!" She squealed again in delight, flopping down dramatically as she tried to catch her breath from talking so long so incessantly.

Wheeljack chuckled as he sat her on the ground. His lips tipped into a smile, but on the inside he was still in a territorial tizzy over the situation at home. "So everything went fine?"

"They sure did!" she said with a big grin. She sighed though, stretching. "Man, I missed this stupid silo." She shot upright. "Bulkhead!"

Wheeljack's hand stopped her from running off to look for the cat, laughing, "Easy, Miko! Mrs. Davis took him to get his claws clipped. He practically tore a wire from Ratchet's ankle, so be happy I saved him."

Her jaw gaped. "You mean Ratchet—Ooh, I'm gonna beat that medic if he hurts my Bulky!"

Wheeljack chuckled and ushered her back. "Cool your pistons, Miko, he's fine, and I wouldn't let the Doc hurt him even IF I get booted aside in the first hour for a cat."

She blushed suddenly, realizing that she was pushing him aside for the cat, but Wheeljack just waved a servo. "Glad to hear things went good at home though." He grinned. "I bet your parents were real proud to hear you passed that Geometry!"

Her smile finally faltered for the first time. Despite how she tried to cover it up, Wheeljack noticed it. "They sure were," she said with a rather weak laugh. "Hey, do you think Mrs. Davis got me a Christmas gift? We should go check it out!"

Wheeljack blocked her path. "Hey, hey, hey, not so fast." He pulled her back in front of him, brows furrowing. "Miko, what happened?"

That forced grin faltered again. "W-What do you mean?"

Wheeljack vented sharply. There it was again. The secrets. He pressed a palm to his forehead. "Miko, it hurts that you don't trust me."

"Don't say that! I do trust you!"

He fixed a hard look at her. "Then why won't you tell me what's going on?" Her jaw locked, and when she didn't have an answer to his question, he pressed, "Miko, I've told you about Pyro; I've told you about Seaspray; I've told you about how I became a Wrecker; I've told you about my audio receptors; I've told you about—Miko, I've told you so much about myself! I told you I came from the All Spark, that I didn't have creators! I've told you so much and shared so much of myself, and yet I still don't know a fragging thing about you? That's not fair, Miko! And it hurts!"

Her lips quivered a moment before they steadied. "You didn't tell me a thing about the torture chamber," she shot right back. "You've got secrets, and I've got secrets."

"Miko—"

"Look," she interrupted angrily again, "I'm not telling you anything! You won't tell me about the torture chamber, so I'm entitled to my own secrets!"

His jaw locked, servos curling into fists. "Fine," he said suddenly. She blinked wide. "I tell you what happened in the torture chamber, you tell me what's going on with your parents."

She blinked, taken aback by the deal he was cutting her, and it was then she realized exactly how much he wanted to know. Her jaw clenched and unclenched visibly as she debated her options, but thinking back on his confession about Pyro. Her throat bobbed. "Fine," she said flatly. "You first."

Wheeljack tensed up like a fog had suddenly shrouded him, prickles of pain crawling over his circuits. His jaw ticked a moment, and he pushed out a hard breath.

"They brought me in and strapped me down in a room with three others," he finally said. The dark halls flickered in his sight, and he focused on the far wall. "Then, they left us. I don't know how long it took for Shockwave to come in, but . . . he did. And when he did, that was when the torture began.

"He . . . tried some serums on the first two." Wheeljack gave a shudder, thanking Primus yet again that those two mechs hadn't been him. He passed a hand over his face. "I don't know what in Pit those serums were supposed to do . . . But when it got in their energon stream, they went mad with pain. One was feral, ripping and tearing at his bonds, literally frothing at the mouth like some wild animal . . . When he finally got free, Shockwave just shot him. He didn't even care." His wingtips perked. "And the other . . . He kept screaming that his energon was boiling. His energon was boiling, it was burning, he was on fire . . ." Wheeljack winced inwardly as he remembered those unearthly screams that crackled and tore from that mechs throat. A thrill of fear ran up his spine again. "After struggling for so long he just . . . died."

Miko just . . . stared. Waited and listened. She seemed a little detached already. "He used a cortical psychic patch on the other," Wheeljack continued. He gave a shrug, scared at just the THOUGHT of someone getting in his processor. "They stayed like that for hours. Eventually, Shockwave finished and disconnected, but he just yanked it off the other guy without properly disconnecting." Wheeljack gave a nervous shrug. "His processor was fried in an instant. And all the while, Shockwave kept taking notes and notes and notes . . . My three companions were gone in the first day. It wasn't until the next that he got started on me, and I . . . I got the short end of the stick."

Wheeljack shuddered, turning his face away. He licked his lips nervously. "He, ah . . . Wanted some information. Some science stuff, I couldn't explain it to you if I tried . . . but I knew I sympathized with the Autobots, especially after what the 'Cons did to Crystal City. I refused to tell him anything." It was a move that Wheeljack regretted with all his life—being so against the 'Cons. He should have just told him . . .

Wheeljack vented sharply several times, trying to catch his breath. "First was some clamps," he said tightly. He gave a weak laugh. "They just stuck them around my wings and tightened. They slowly crushed them." His wingtips perked and twitched, phantom fires racing through his systems in remembrance. He shuddered. "That was child's play," he whispered. "He cut out an optic with a scalpel. He opened up an arm and played around with my wires, reconnecting them here and there, slicing them open like veins and nerves . . . My neural network is still a little fried in the right arm." He opened and closed his hand in a fist, noting that he couldn't feel his two little fingers or the outside of his forearm.

Another shaky breath tried to steady his nerves. He wasn't even looking at Miko anymore—he was locked inside that torture chamber again, one gleaming red optic from hell staring impassively back at him. "I'd given him what he wanted to know by now," Wheeljack whispered. "He—He wanted to keep going. Y-You know, t-to see how much p-pain I could handle. He wanted to—he wanted to create a bot that couldn't feel any pain, and he wanted to gauge how much a mech's body could take."

Wheeljack's in cycles caught tightly and his body hinged up as if he was getting attacked by Shockwave's diabolical tools again. "He started using shocks of electricity. Primus, that was easy to take compared to—And that—that fragging endoscopic claw! Lance-like thing covered in jagged protrusions, and he just shoved it down my throat—!"

Wheeljack jerked to his feet suddenly, processor immediately trying to blot out the rest of it. "Primus frag it—Keep you secrets! Primus slag you, just keep them!" He shook almost violently, trying to regulate his jagged breaths that were hitching the way they had done when that torture device had ripped apart his throat from the inside out. It had been a wonder he had been able to walk when he had managed to slip the guards that had been moving him to the chamber with the other mech—he guessed Shockwave had managed to find his answer. How much pain a mech could take before desperation kicked in and overrode every other thought.

"Wheeljack—" Miko's voice was quivering so hard she could barely get out the words. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Jackie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . . I'm sorry . . ."

He quaked, the darkest part of his past stealing over his processor, and all he could think was that he either get Ratchet to erase the memory (which was nearly impossible lest he put ALL his memories on the line) or try to drown it all in high grade again or kill himself. The last was inconceivable, the first Ratchet would refuse to try, so that left only one thing. Wheeljack turned to go, but he had barely gone the first few steps before Miko pleaded, "Wait, Jackie, I'm sorry, wait, please! Jackie please! Wait!"

He only stopped because he could hear the tears clogging her voice. "Jackie, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried, I'm sorry—"

Little fingers touched his ankle, and Wheeljack jerked away, nearly falling over he moved so quickly. Above his gasping, he heard Miko's breath hitch with tears when he retreated from her. Hot tears were filling in her brown eyes.

He swallowed around the lump of terror in his throat. Kneeling down, he extended a violently shaking hand towards her, muttering, "You are NOT Shockwave."

She reached out and grabbed a finger and planted a chaste kiss on him. His spark flipped in its chamber. "No, I'm not," she said. "And—And if he ever tries something again, he'll answer to me, all right? I won't let him hurt you. I'll protect you, Jackie, I won't let anything happen to you."

Wheeljack gave a weak laugh and shook his head. "Right, Miko, you keep believing that . . ."

"You believe it too."

They sat that way, Miko kissing his finger to show how sorry she was for pushing him and telling him to look at her whenever his gaze wandered or grew distant. She apologized for not being able to stop him sooner, but confessed she honestly couldn't speak. Wheeljack apologized for being stupid enough to tell her anything at all. His spark, quivering in fear, was slowly soothed by Miko whispering whimsical nothings in his audio receptors.

Finally, even through his fear, Wheeljack murmured, "We made a deal, right? You gotta tell me something . . ." After all, he hadn't made it through it all. She really only had to tell him some.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. "It's stupid after hearing what happened to you," she said softly.

Hand steady, Wheeljack lifted her chin up to him. "If it's hurting you," he said seriously, "it's not stupid. All right?"

She nodded, but didn't look convinced. Wheeljack sat down, crisscross, and chucked her chin. "C'mon, Miko, you can tell me anything."

"It's stupid," she said venomously, betraying tears clotting her voice. "It's just me being insecure. You don't need to worry about it."

"Miko." He cupped his hand around her. "Listen to me. I don't care how insignificant you think it is. If it's hurting you, making you insecure, I want to fix it."

She glared up. "And I want to fix what happened in the torture chambers, but I can't! So you don't need my stupid crap to worry you more!"

"Listen to me," he said, and he leaned down seriously, "I don't care. I just want to make sure YOU'RE all right. Now tell me."

Her lips quivered, and she crossed her arms and looked away. "I'm a girl."

"I gather that."

The small joke fell flat in the serious situation. Miko glared at the ground. "Dad always said I should be a boy. He said I was a disappointment. He said I was stupid, worthless, and I wouldn't amount to anything." Her throat tightened. "He said Mom was a disappointment too. She couldn't bear children after me, and so she failed him as a wife. And I failed him as a child cause I was a girl. So Mom let him do whatever he wanted with me and became a rug to Dad. She didn't do anything to help me or herself."

Miko refused to look up, but Wheeljack could see when the tears started—they slipped off her cheeks and hit the floor. "I was just a kid though. I didn't understand why Dad hated me. So I tried my best to be what he wanted me to be—a strong, smart, fearless boy. I played in the dirt; I had guy friends; I played rough games, I didn't act like a girl. But he wasn't happy with me. So I tried to be a girl. I was the girliest girl; my favorite color became pink; I wore makeup; I wore dresses and skirts and heels. But he still wasn't happy, and I couldn't understand it."

Miko gave a watery laugh. "So I thought, fine, he still isn't proud of me? I'll MAKE him proud of me. So I started with my two pure bred cats. I took care of them on my own, watched after them, cleaned them. I got perfect straight A's all the time. When that failed to impress him, I took piano lessons. I won prize after prize, but it still wasn't enough for him—I still wasn't good enough, no matter how I tried, nothing."

The tears were coming harder, and Wheeljack felt his spark squeeze when she kept going. "So I tried the opposite!" she burst, arms crossed over her chest as she tried to make herself as small as possible. "I rebelled. I cut my hair, I started failing my classes, I went out with some guy five years older than me, I picked up guitar instead of piano, got into the hardest rock, dyed my hair, wore whatever the hell I wanted—and I still couldn't get his attention! He still hated me! No matter what I did, he hated me! He hates me!" Her voice cracked, and she was crying in earnest now, sobs shuddering in and out of her frail frame. "That's when he decided that becoming a foreign exchange student would be good for me—he'd trade me for a good, strong and smart boy, someone he could be proud of!" Her voice broke harshly. "He didn't care that it'd only be for a year, just as long as he had a boy—!"

Wheeljack scooped her up into his chest, spark crying out to her as she cried so hard she could barely breathe. "I'm just a failure!" she shrieked, hitting his metal with her fists. "A stupid, worthless failure!"

So tied up with emotion, Wheeljack could barely get his articulators to work properly. "Don't say that," he finally rasped, on the verge of tears himself. "Miko, don't—don't say that, please. You're better than that, and you know it . . ."

His throat tightened again. How familiar were those words? His spark and shoulders shook as he pulled her close to his chassis. Pain so familiar and close to the spark . . . they were his own words. Primus, he had said that same thing to himself over the years. After he lost Pyro, he started saying he wasn't good enough, he was a failure and he could only wish he could do things right. He let it get worse with Seaspray, and then Bulkhead, and even sometimes with Miko . . . but the thought had been of his own violation. Miko had someone forcing her to believe it, and she still couldn't shake his words—her own father.

How could he make her believe in herself when he couldn't even fix his own problems?

"Miko," he whispered earnestly, "don't say that. Don't—Don't you EVER say that. Don't ever say it ever again, you hear me?" If she did—which she could—she couldn't say anything above her hiccupping sobs. "You're better than that, and you know it. You don't need his approval, Miko, you're perfect just the way you are! You hear me? You—you've done all those things. You've done things a lot of people WISH they were good enough to do! He might be your biological father, but he isn't a father to you. He's just the one you unfortunately have to share your genes with. You are ama—Miko, look at me. Look at me," and he forced her head up to look at him through her watery eyes. "Miko, you are AMAZING. Just the way you are! Don't you ever, and I mean EVER let anyone tell you otherwise! Hear me? I don't care if he is your biological father, he isn't a father to you! A father is someone—someone who's always there for you. Right? He's supposed to support you in everything you do, even if he doesn't like some of them, as long as he knows it's what's best for you. He's supposed to beat off the boys with a stick. He's supposed to hug you, kiss you, give you those affections you need. He's supposed to be kind, thoughtful, forgiving, encouraging, a source of strength and support, and he sure as HELL is supposed to believe in you!"

Miko blinked, sniffling shuddering tears. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "Y—You mean like you?"

The gears of his mind shuddered to a halt. "Wh—What?"

Miko suddenly sat up in his hand, sniffing up her tears and wiping them away. "Like you," she repeated. "You're always there for me. You hug and kiss me—well, let me hug and kiss you. Kinda hard the opposite way. You're thoughtful—you sent me the Christmas card. You make me laugh, and even though you don't like my music, you always tell me I've got talent and should keep playing. You've always been suspicious of me and Jack," and a small touch of heat filled her cheeks. "And—And you've always believed in me. You always have." Her eyes suddenly misted again. "And you told me you loved me. I . . . I've never heard Dad say that once."

Wiped speechless, Wheeljack could only stare at this tiny human he had come to care so much about. Miko wiped the last of her tears again, laughing a little. "I held Dad's hand all my life . . . and he's the one that's been dragging me down." She shook her head and took a deep breath, and her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had fallen from them. "I forgive you . . . forget you." She looked back up to Wheeljack, and her tearstained face pinched into a slight smile. "And that's the end of that."

"I—I—What?"

Wheeljack couldn't get his articulators to function properly. Miko just smiled again, shaking her head. "Dad. I don't have to worry about him. Cause . . . I never really had a father figure until I met you and Bulkhead, right?"

Wheeljack sucked in a tight breath, and his spark quivered he felt so full of love to bursting. "Yeah," he finally managed. He got his mouth to pull up into a smile. "That's exactly right, Babe. I'll always be here for you, got it?"

_I'll be there for you. Always._

"Got it." There was a pause. "Jackie? Merry Christmas."

"Well, it might not be Christmas anymore . . . but Merry Christmas."

There was another quiet pause as Miko sniffled back the rest of her tears, cuddling happily into Wheeljack's chassis. His spark surged protectively, and though he loathed to send her back to Tokyo later tonight, had had to. She wouldn't come back until January 3rd, and it was still only December. He could handle on through the New Year. He'd wait forever for her.

_Without you . . . I have nothing to live for. I have nothing but you. My little girl. Mine . . ._

She filled his life full of laughter when the dark threatened to overcome him—he couldn't face the dark without her. And that life full of laughter? As long as he was laughing with her, he could want for no more. His spark swelled.

"Miko? I love you."

He felt her cheeks pull into a smile. "I love you too, Jackie."

Affectionate, rumbling laugher was coaxed from his chassis.

"And don't you forget it."

_I am with you. Forever. The end._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**First off, let me say that this is NOT the end! There's plenty more goodies to come. ^^**

**Second, I got a gift! It's called Steel Cold Heart by MachinaeChild on YouTube. Just remove the astriks (*) star thingys and follow the link:**

**h*t*t*p*:*/*/*www*.*you*tube.*com/*watch*?v=yF*6w_G5N8*qs&fea*ture=*yout*u*.b*e**

**And I totally didn't mean to get so sad dark and mushy for the Christmas chapter, it started out with Jackie x Arcee fluffies! But then I got listening to that song and it totally changed everything. So. ^^**


	25. Tipsy

**Author's Note:**

**Happy New Year! :)**

**Warning, lots of Arcee and Wheeljack fluff ahead! ^^ I also decided to keep it PG. It suits the mood of this fanfic**

* * *

><p>"Truth or dare."<p>

"Miko, I don't think this is a good idea . . ."

"Oh please, it's just a little fun."

"C'mon, Babe, you remember where a little fun left us last time?"

"Eh, I think I've forgotten."

"It ended with me covered in dents. I don't want a repeat of that."

"Then don't be stupid enough to do a dare like that again."

"You were stupid enough to challenge my Wrecking pride."

"Touché."

There was a pause. "So, truth or dare?"

Wheeljack groaned at the red light they sat at on the way to the base. Miko was on the phone with him, chatting away happily and then she sprung this. "Miko, it's not even going to work. You won't know if I did it or not."

"So it's a dare?"

"Miko."

"All right! I dare you to . . . honk your horn in the Jingle Bells melody."

Wheeljack decompressed a sigh from his pistons as the light turned green. He pulled forward, saying, "Fine. Dare accepted."

HONK HONK HONK! HONK HONK HONK! HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK!

Miko whooped happily from the other end of the phone and Wheeljack just rolled his optics as he did so. Several people gave his hologram some weird looks, but he honestly couldn't care. He'd been chatting with Miko for an hour in the privacy of driving wherever, and he was a perfectly happy bot. Four more days, and she'd be back.

"All right, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Should have known with Miko. "Ah, okay, let's see, something horrible for you . . . How about you . . . I dare you to apologize to me."

"What? Apologize for what!"

Wheeljack revved his engine to muffle a laugh. "Apologize for the first time we played Truth or Dare. I want you to apologize for making me do that dare where Ratchet beat me to slag because it was true that you had a crush on Jack. Yeah, I want you to apologize and admit it."

There was a heavy pause from across the line. "It's not true, so it's invalid."

Wheeljack laughed, amazed at her stubborn nature. "Miko, c'mon. It's been out of the bag with us for a long time now. Just admit it. Fine, I take it back, I don't need you to admit it to know it's true. Just tell me you're sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"Like you mean it," Wheeljack pressed with a chuckle.

"Fine. I'm SORRY."

Wheeljack snickered. "All right, I'll take that."

"Ha!" He heard Miko hum thoughtfully. "Truth or dare?"

He barely made a yellow light. "Dare."

"Okay, um . . . run your next red light!"

Wheeljack tutted his glossia and shook his head. "No can do, Miko. Fowler would have to pay for that ticket and would beat my processor in. Besides that, I'm already on the interstate on the way to base."

"Oh! Drat, okay . . . Can you do a doughnut?"

Flicking his rearview mirrors around, Wheeljack took advantage of the lull in traffic, slung into a doughnut that had his tires screaming, straightened out, and got back to full speed by the time the car behind him was breaking and giving him plenty room. He heard Miko laugh.

"Wish I had been there when you did that!"

"Doughnuts are easy," he said. "We'll go street racing when you get back."

Her squeal nearly splintered his audio receptors. "We will?"

"Sure thing, just don't tell the Doc or Prime. Come to think, don't tell Bee or C either. They'll rat us out."

"Our secret!"

He rolled his optics again because she was WAY too excited. Then again, it would be her first time. Come to think, he kinda missed racing . . . "All right, truth or dare?"

"Dare!"

"Do you ever do truth?"

"No."

Should have figured that one too. "All right, I dare you to do a truth next turn."

She huffed from across the phone. "Okay. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"What? You just took the fun out of this!"

A laugh rumbled from Wheeljack's chassis as he got off the interstate and onto the dingy back roads to base. "C'mon, Babe, ask me something."

"Hold on, let me think . . ." She hummed the whole time she thought. Wheeljack cruised without much care. "Okay. Okay! Why don't you like Optimus?"

Wheeljack heaved a heavy decompress, deliberating this question. "Why? Cause he's a stuffy, know-it-all, presumptuous leader. That's why. But . . . He's really not as bad as I make him out. He's just too worried for his own good."

Miko muffled her laughter from across the line. "Is that it?"

Wheeljack paused. He sank on his suspension. "No. I also think it's cause he reminds me just a little too much of Ultra Magnus."

Miko stopped. "Really?"

"Yeah," Wheeljack said back, rumbling thoughtfully. "I miss Magnus. And the Wreckers. I miss being with them and Magnus beating the scrap out of me when I got out of line. Optimus just . . . I don't know. It's hard to explain."

"All right . . . You're turn."

Ah, that was right. "So it's a truth, right?"

"Yeah . . ." The sound of her grumbling made Wheeljack chuckle.

"So tell me, why didn't you want me to know about this thing with your parents?"

He could practically FEEL her shift uncomfortably from across the line. "Well, I . . . didn't want you to think less of me."

Wheeljack felt his ever-abused spark sink to his stomach. "Miko, I don't. I wouldn't ever. In fact, I'm almost certain this has only made me more impressed with you. You're determined and resilient enough to do all of that? Yeah. You're impressive."

He could imagine the unwilling smile tipping her lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well Ms. Impressive has to get off. Mom's calling that I have to go to bed. You know the ball thing dropped two hours ago?"

Wheeljack watched the base draw into sight. "You mean you're up at 2? Have fun getting up tomorrow. Besides, I gotta go too. I've gotta go pick on Arcee some more."

"Ha! You do that. See ya!"

"Till next time."

Man, that left him five more hours to kill until the New Year hit. But, this particular holiday was giving him wonderful ideas . . .

If Arcee didn't skin him alive first, that is.

Wheeljack transformed up, booming out, "Arcee!"

She turned from the video games the boys were playing. "What?"

He waved a hand, walking across the silo. He patted Ratchet's shoulder. "Sup, Doc." The grumble that ensued was instantaneous. "So, Arcee, I've got a deal for you. Don't look at me like that, we're going to have some fun."

She arched that skeptical brow. "I don't think I want to have anything to do with your plans."

Wheeljack grinned when she turned her back on him. He leaned his forearms on her shoulders, and she stiffened. "Lighten up," he said to her. "I'm here with a truce."

"A truce?"

"And an apology for kissing you like that last week," he said. He thought he could detect a slight rise in her temperatures. "I'm gonna take you up to the Jackhammer and we're gonna have a few drinks, talk some things out."

She pushed him off her shoulders, turned, and glared. "Wheeljack, I've told you already numerous times that I'm not going to drink with you."

He waved a nonchalant hand. "I'm not saying we're going to get drunk. Just a couple drinks. Y'know, chill and relax, get real happy—"

"Wheeljack, drinking is against protocol."

"And protocol was made to be broken."

"Made to keep order."

Bumblebee inched over and nudged him. *I'd love to drink with you* he chirped softly.

Wheeljack laughed and gave the kid a noogie. "Yeah, kid, in your dreams. Maybe when you're older than a vorn."

*I am too old enough!* Bumblebee fought, flushing with indignation. Then, quick as the spurt of anger was, it was gone and replaced with a pair of puppy dog eyes. *Not even for my first drink?*

Wheeljack chuckled and punched him affectionately. "Maybe next time. Right now I'm trying to swindle Arcee into this."

"And it's not working," she said flatly.

Wheeljack shrugged without worry and put his hands on his hips. "Sure thing. Look, Arcee. It's only once, and it's only for tonight. After all, it's New Year's Eve, and this was a human holiday made for the hell of getting drunk. Now, I've already promised you we won't get—"

"Wheeljack, I'm not impressed."

"What? Scared I'll drink you under the table?"

Arcee's optics narrowed to slits. "Wheeljack, you just said we weren't getting drunk—"

"Oh, so you just can't hold you're drink. I understand."

Her face began to burn. "I didn't say that."

"Then I don't see the problem here."

Arcee's lip curled. "Look. I'm not—"

"And why not?" Arcee's optics widened, and she turned around and looked at Jack. The human shrugged with his controller nonchalantly in hand. "It is only once a year, and you do need to wind down some. Relax! Go have some fun! I can cover for you, and Bee can give me a ride home. Right?" The scout chirped in a positive.

Wheeljack shrugged and arched a brow at her.

Arcee scowled. "Just this once . . ."

* * *

><p>Getting her up to the Jackhammer was a tense walk and her drinking the first cube was like giving her poison. Then, as he slowly talked her down, she got tipsy, much easier to talk to and get her coming out of her shell.<p>

Then, he found out Arcee was a light weight.

He couldn't blame her, honestly. Her little size was working against her, and he bet the Prime never let them drink high grade. But like PIT it was funny when she loosened up! She actually grew a personality and had some fun! When Wheeljack mentioned the stupid Solja-Boy dance Miko hated so much, Arcee declared she could do it, told him to hold her high grade, and proceeded to, eh, flail as much of the dance as she could.

By Primus, they were doing this again!

They sang some songs. She cried. They laughed. They swung around for more drink. Wheeljack promised another wasn't going to hurt and her processor was so fritzed she didn't mind at this point. Still, he had a feeling this was going to be her last drink—after all, he didn't want her upheaving it all tomorrow morning on his floor. He'd have to clean it up.

"I'm gooooooing ouuuuuut! I'm gunna . . . drink myself to death! And in the crowd I—ha, hee hee . . . I see you with someone else! I brace myseeeelf—!"

"Gorgeous, sweetspark, gorgeous," Wheeljack said idly as he watched Arcee trying to sing some song, voice shrieking on some notes because she was having fun. At him calling her gorgeous and a sweetspark, she collapsed into a fit of giggles and rolled her optics. "Really? You're just saying that to get me riled up . . ."

Wheeljack took a long drink, sitting across the floor from her from their last dance romp. "Am not. Well, I used to. But now the high grade's loosening my glossia. I'm spouting off truth every which way."

Arcee laughed, shaking her head so much she almost tipped over. "Yeah, handsome, I believe that. Do you know what size shoe Miko has?"

"Sure do," he said positively. "Size seven and a half. Good size. All the shoes come in that size. She's easy to shop for."

"I bet she'd like some, uh . . . some pink boots. With skulls. Yeah," and Arcee wrinkled her nose, "skulls are her sort of thing . . ."

Wheeljack snapped his fingers, pointing at her. "Y'know? I saw some boots like that. Yeah, they were snow boots. Poofy and black, but they had pink skulls and pink fur on them. I nearly got them for Miko, but then I found the tickets to that concert."

"Yeah, she sent Jack some stuff've that," Arcee slurred a little. Wheeljack watched her take another drink and sigh happily. His lips tipped into a grin. "Sounded crappy."

Wheeljack chuckled. "So? You're glad you came out and had a drink with me?"

She scowled then. "Yeah. Until you got me drunk."

"You're not drunk, just a little tipsy."

"Kiss my aft."

"Gladly."

He didn't make a move to get up, but it was enough to get dagger eyes from Arcee. "Oh yeah? Yeah, I can still take you on, still knock some . . . holes . . . some dents in you! Watch it," and she swung her arm which in turn nearly wobbled her to the floor, "I can still kick you up yours!"

Wheeljack chuckled. "I don't doubt it."

"You know? You never did tell me how you were before the war. What were you like before the war? A pansy?" She laughed at her own joke.

"Pathetically a pansy," Wheeljack agreed. It made her laugh harder, but he could only grin, content and happy that she was finally relaxed. Maybe a little over relaxed . . . "I was a real gentle bot. I opened doors for people, can you believe that?"

"Slam it in their face. Ha! That's what I'd do . . ."

Wheeljack finished his glass and reached for another. If he wasn't careful, he was going to start running low in his stash. "Yeah, that's what I'd do now. I was a scientist."

That made her laugh even harder. She shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh yes! That's rich! What else? Did you make the greatest inventions?"

"As a matter of fact, I did!" Wheeljack said. He jutted his chin up proudly. "You mock me, but I'm serious. Granted, a lot of them might have exploded . . . but I certainly made some of the best things! I fashioned the guns for the femmes."

Arcee laughed, transforming her arm into her laser. "Oh? I bet you made this, didn't you?"

Wheeljack winced, waving a hand. "Maybe not the exact one, but the uh . . . blue prints. Don't wave it around."

She grinned. "Yeah? You afraid?" She waved it more for good measure.

Wheeljack crawled across the floor, carefully keeping his cube from spilling as he reached over and pointed her gun downwards. "Not for me," he said smartly, and raised his glass. "I'm afraid for the drink. You let a shot off in here and BOOM. There goes my stash . . ."

Arcee wrinkled her nose and transformed her servo back. "Yeah, that'd be bad. BOOM. Heh . . ."

Wheeljack collapsed next to her, and when a slightly lull in conversation hit, he filled it with, "So, tell me. Two partners, right? Tailgate and the talkative guy."

"Cliffjumper," she said on a sigh. She leaned against his arm. "I miss him. Both of them. They were good partners, though Cliff never knew when to shut up."

Wheeljack's optics softened. He slung an arm around her and cuffed her shoulder. "What happened to him? You never did tell me?"

"Screamer," Arcee muttered. "Ugly as slag dirt kisser . . . Cliff got in over his head, and . . . I don't know . . . We didn't get there in time. So he was captured and," she popped her fingers open, "poof. His life signal falls off line. Screamer gloated to me one day." She scowled. "I should have killed him instead of letting him go . . ."

Wheeljack felt his optics widen. "You mean—but he killed your partner! Didn't you want, well, revenge?"

"Sure," she agreed easily. She yawned before taking anther drink, finishing it. She threw it across the berth room. "But Bee looked at me. Got me feeling bad. And Optimus always said to uh . . . yeah, said not to kill in revenge. I don't know if I believe him."

Wheeljack frowned. "So Screamer killed Cliffjumper. You said you were in the torture chamber when Tailgate was killed. Who killed him?"

Arcee's tired face scowled. "Airachnid."

Clearly, that one was still a very sore spot—Wheeljack could sympathize. Arcee gave a little, bitter laugh. "Look at us. We're kinda pathetic, aren't we? Both been tortured, human partners we need to protect, bots we're out for revenge on . . ."

"Don't forget we both disobey Optimus."

Arcee gave a giddy laugh, helm resting on his shoulder. "Yeah, that too. And we're both sexy as hell."

"Ooh, a human phrase? Been living here too long. And I'm sexy?"

"Yes, you are," and she flopped down tiredly into his lap. "All the way down to your creaky pistons."

Wheeljack, affronted, took a deep drink of his high grade and narrowed his optics down at her. "The only one with rusty pistons around here is the Doc."

"Mph."

Wheeljack's lips pulled into a lazy smile, and he took the chance to nudge behind her helm. She sat up woozily then, demanding, "I want another drink."

"Not unless you want to throw it up all over the floor in the morning."

She laughed. "It's already morning."

Wheeljack checked his chronometer. "No it's not. You've still got a few minutes."

Arcee rolled her optics and leaned against his shoulder again. "Okay. This New Year's business is fun."

"Sure is."

They were silent for a moment. Arcee yawned again. "Hey, Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell Optimus."

He chuckled. "Our little secret."

"Big secret."

He cast a glance around the room. "Yeah. Okay. Big secret."

They were quiet for a few more minutes, and Wheeljack heard Arcee's breathing deepen as she slipped into recharge. He took another drink, and as his chronometer read the New Year, his gaze slipped down to Arcee. He leaned down, putting a small kiss on her lips.

"Happy New Year, Arcee."

* * *

><p>Wheeljack was awake. His glossia was a bit thick in the morning after the night of drinking, but his optics were glued to Arcee who was still asleep, cuddling up against his side.<p>

Empty cubes of high grade littered his room. The berth was untouched, but Arcee was a little more than cuddled up. The high grade had made her extremely affectionate, and she was quite literally sitting in his lap, straddling his waist, helm resting against his shoulder. Wheeljack had his arms around her, one hand behind her helm.

His throat felt tight. For once, after losing his Wrecking team, Wheeljack didn't want to be alone. He loved the feel of her in his arms, breathing softly and leaning on him, loved the feeling of comradeship. He missed it. He missed femmes. He missed . . . more than just that, though. He missed . . . a little something more . . .

Arcee stirred. Wheeljack let her since her optics were fuzzy when they flickered on, effects of the high grade, but her optics would recalibrate and fix that. She snuggled comfortably closer with a soft sigh, and then, she stiffened like she'd be petrified.

Arcee pushed him away, jolting to her feet like she'd been shocked, optics wide and dancing brightly. "Wh—Wheeljack? What happened? I so swear, if you took advantage of me while I was—"

He jumped to his feet. "Easy, Arcee," he interrupted. She trembled a bit she was so worried. "Easy, I didn't do anything."

"They why in Pit were we . . ." She gestured indefinitely. "Like THAT!"

He shrugged his shoulder. "You fell asleep against me. And, contrary to the popular thought, you're a cuddler."

She blinked. "A WHAT?"

He nodded. "A cuddler. That's what happened the night of the sleepover. You cuddled up against me. I'm not doing a thing."

Her optics narrowed to slits. "Whatever. We're not ever doing this again."

Wheeljack blocked her path. "Say what? You just said last night that you had fun! What's the big deal?"

"Nothing!" she snapped. "Get out of my way!"

Wheeljack grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back when she tried to pass him. "No," he said. He narrowed his optics right back. "Arcee, I'm sick and tired of this attitude you're giving me."

"My attitude?"

"Yes, you're attitude!" Wheeljack growled. He stepped forward. "You've treated me like the dirt under your feet for the longest. Whenever things start to get friendly between us, you always say something that riles me up or shuts the door on me—I don't know! You keep pushing me away! Why?"

Her face flushed. "It's none of your business!"

Wheeljack grabbed her arm again, refusing to let her go. "No. Arcee, I want answers. You afraid of what I'll think?"

"No!"

"Then spit it out!"

She yanked her arm from his grip and backed away, shouting, "I don't want to risk caring about you because everyone I care about dies!"

Wheeljack recoiled, her words hitting like a slap in the face. She shook, jaw clenched tightly, optics fuzzy from the high grade and throat bobbing. He took a step forward.

"Caring about me . . . So you do care."

She neither shook her head nor nodded. But, the look in her optics confirmed it for Wheeljack, and his spark roared to life.

He had known it.

And by Primus, he returned it.

"And the reason you don't want to care about me is because you think everyone around you that you care about dies?"

A faint nod.

Her blue optics danced with passion laced deep in her veins. Wheeljack studied her, this femme he had laid the night with, holding her so unsuspectingly tender—a gesture he hadn't been sure he actually had in him. She trembled from the pain of her past and the haunting of her present, exactly like Wheeljack—broken, afraid, and wishing she was better.

She touched places in his spark he hadn't known were there. But now . . . he did.

"That's a stupid reason."

Her optics widened, and before she could react, Wheeljack had grabbed her and drug her close, kissing her forcefully, hungrily. She gasped and pushed at him, but he let his servos roam over her smooth metal plating, mapping the contours of her body for his memory banks and relishing in a different kind of release than he was used to. It wasn't just physical, like it had been before with any other femme, this time he felt it tugging deep from his spark, filled with a desperate emotion that clawed its way to the surface. She protested verbally, but her body melted into him, willing to be taken.

Wheeljack led her to his berth, a place they did not leave from all morning long.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**That song Arcee was singing? _Hurricane Drunk_ by Florence + The Machine**


	26. Smart and Stupid

**Author's Note:**

**Swore I wasn't going to do a smut scene for Wheeljack and Arcee but my imagination ran off with Nelly Furtado's _Say It Right_. xD**

**So! Since FF refuses lnks, you can find that on my profile entitled, "A Stupid Reason"**

**Also, the start of this chapter would have never come out so fluffy if it weren't for Justin Beibier. You heard me! Justin Beiber. I was listening to his acoustic version of "As Long As You Love Me" from some Victoria's Secret performance... and it was actually very good! I like it a lot. First thing of his I like, will wonders never cease?**

* * *

><p>"Wheeljack?"<p>

"Hm?"

"I'm going to kill you now."

"Have at it. I'm dying happy."

"Frag you."

"Again? I'd happily—"

A crack of metal against metal.

"Don't even get any ideas you fragger."

Wheeljack chuckled and traced his fingers up her back. "I don't need ideas," he murmured. He turned his head, tracing her forehead with his lips. "I've already done it."

"Frag you."

"You need to watch your language young lady."

Another crack of metal against metal. "Shut up."

Wheeljack muffled another rumbling laugh and instead complied with her order, quite content at the moment to simply hold her. He expelled a sigh from his vents, one servo slung low over her waist and the other sliding up and down the contours of her back. She sprawled over his front, arms wrapped around him, helm tucked under his chin, and Wheeljack could feel her soft breath on his neck. This . . . was as close to the Well of All Sparks as he would get. This soft feeling of contentment could only be improved upon if Miko was home with Mrs. Davis. Still . . . it was the best he had felt in a long time. His spark wasn't giving him any fits, Miko understood she didn't have to feel pressured by her biological father, and he had the femme of his dreams in his arms, his berth. No, not much could be improved on.

As Wheeljack idly touched her body, he couldn't help but feel impressed by Arcee's fortitude. She endured the torture chambers, lost two partners—one right in front of her eyes, a feeling Wheeljack could sympathize with after losing Pyro—and she still fought on in their names: Tailgate and Cliffjumper. She didn't allow herself to break, and she would never allow Airachnid and Starscream to escape her grasp. She was driven; she was passionate; she had an irresistible temper, and her figure sure didn't hurt things. Wheeljack felt like he'd been hit by a shooting star that suddenly dropped his dream femme in his lap and was so overwhelmed he could barely keep his processor out of the clouds.

He enjoyed the silence with her, thumbs circling almost without thought on the soft protoform of her waist. Pink. A faint laugh rumbled his chassis. He would have never guessed she had pink protoform beneath all her armor. Such a girly color didn't seem to suit the serious, womanly femme. That would be something that never failed to amuse Wheeljack—pink.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

"I don't trust you."

Wheeljack chuckled. "You're a smart femme."

"Not too smart. Look at where I'm at."

Wheeljack nuzzled her forehead. "From where I'm standing, you're in a very good place."

"I'm not so sure . . . You've had one too many brushes with death for me to be comfortable with."

With a vent, Wheeljack rolled over so he was on top of Arcee and looking in her optics. "I told you I'm not going anywhere," he said. She shifted beneath him, but he leaned in close, one servo reaching up to cup her cheek. "Listen to me," he said softly. "I'm . . . I'm not the same mech I once was when I first came here. I used to figure alone was a lot less complicated. And, maybe it was, but I was missing a helluva lot that I needed. I was killing myself, festering in my solitude and bitter at the world. Then, I come here, and while I lost my greatest friend in the world, I gained . . . so much."

He paused, licking his lips. "I mean, I've got your band of misfits—a kid barely old enough to be out on the field of battle, a cranky old medic, and a commander who's too compassionate to be of real use. Got a cute kid that needs the nose pieces on his glasses tightened, a young man who's growing up in the likeness of the Prime, and I've got Miko. She—" and he gave a small, bewildered laugh, "she's taught me a lot of things. Patience as the first, but she taught me about family, things of the heart, her host mother too.

"And then, I've got you."

Arcee paused, arching a brow. "What? No embellishment?"

"Sweetspark, you of all people," and he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, "need no embellishment." He gave a sigh and nuzzled his face to hers affectionately. "I just . . . wish Bulkhead didn't have to die to make me realize that."

After a pause, Arcee's servos slid up to cup behind his neck, and she kissed him sweetly. "You need to let that go."

He laughed softly. "Trying. It gets better as the days go. It won't ever fully go away, but . . ." He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. "It certainly gets easier with you guys at my side."

"There is a certain strength in numbers."

"Or maybe just the right kind of people."

Their optics locked for a second, and then Arcee's optics shifted. "Jack needs a ride to work," she finally said.

Wheeljack arched a brow. "New Year's Day?"

She nodded. "He works fast food."

She slipped from beneath him and began to place her armor back on, and Wheeljack propped himself up on an arm to watch her, optics tracing over the curves of her body. She made quick time of it, and he hated to have her leave—but there was a certain deliciousness in watching that waist go.

"Hey." He grabbed her wrist before she could leave. He arched a brow at her. "I don't do these things lightly," he finally told her.

Her gaze didn't falter. "I don't either," she said back steadily.

There was still a kind of hesitation in her optics that he didn't like. Wheeljack lifted her servo and kissed the back of it, looking up seriously. "I meant what I said last night, Arcee. You aren't going to regret this."

Her throat moved. She took her hand away. "We'll just see . . ."

"I promise, Arcee."

Her back struts dipped. "War changes people," was all she would say.

Wheeljack watched her go, optics drawn to the low tilt of her helm. That the night had been so wonderful to end on such a somber note . . . He vented sharply, lying back on his berth with his arms behind his helm. She had some demons in her past. And like Miko had helped him with his, he was going to help Arcee with hers.

Then he'd see how long she could run from him.

* * *

><p>"So, Miko, what do you think of Arcee?"<p>

Miko wrinkled her nose. "Arcee?"

They were currently on the way back to the base from Miko's first day back at school, and Wheeljack watched her nose wrinkle. Ah, this was going to be VERY interesting . . .

"She's kinda stuck up. Kinda full of it. Acts like a freaking queen that can do what she wants and has authority over us all."

"Oh? What else?"

Miko shifted, and her nose wrinkled more. She continued to pluck invisible strings of her guitar. "Well . . . I don't know! I guess she's a good fighter. Jack likes her I guess since she's his guardian. She's a stick in the mud. We never have fun with her. She's a bit obsessed with Airachnid . . . I heard from Jack sometimes they'll break the speed limit and try to hit her top speed." Miko snorted. "That's about the most of it though. Arcee's a real stickler for the rules until it comes to Airachnid."

"Is that so? So do you like her?"

Miko cut him a glance. "I guess . . . Why?"

"Yeah, this is going to be real interesting . . ."

"What is?"

Wheeljack chuckled, passing a slower moving car on the interstate. "Well, just so you know, I happen to like Arcee."

Miko paused. "Like . . . LIKE her like her, or just, oh yeah, you like her."

Wheeljack twitched his rearview mirror to her. "What?"

Miko sat up, suddenly animated with her hands as she said, "Like, do you LIKE her like her, or is it just liking her? Like how you like Bee, or like how you like me? Or LIKE her like her?"

After a minute of sorting that out, Wheeljack proclaimed, "LIKE her like her."

After a moment, Miko busted out laughing, and Wheeljack patiently waited her out. Her laughing dwindled out, and she finally said weakly, "You . . . You're serious."

"Very."

Miko groaned then, flopping back into her seat. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Oh my God, Wheeljack, WHY?"

"Why?" he repeated. He snorted. "You kidding me? That has to be the toughest femme I've seen in my entire LIFE—and I have lived a very long time—she's passionate, she cares, and contrary to what you think, she can have fun. And she's hot."

"Oh my God."

Miko dropped her face in her hands, and Wheeljack tried not to laugh as he watched her figure this one out. The ride to base was mostly silent until she suddenly sat up and burst, "So—What—Are you dating now?"

"Eh . . ." Wheeljack felt that question out, trying to understand the gist of it. "Not really how you humans do it. It's more like . . . courting? Not even really that. Arcee and I just acknowledged that we both feel something, and we'll explore it."

"So—Aw fraaaaaaag!"

"What?"

"New Year's Eve?" she exploded. She groaned again, flopping back in his seat before looking around the cab like she was surrounded by disgusting things. "Oh God. Oh please. I know what happens when people get drunk. You guys did it, didn't you?"

For once, Wheeljack didn't need an explanation of human lingo for "it." He told himself to be patient and NOT freak out like Miko was. "Well, we didn't do it because we were drunk—"

"Ack! I don't need any details! Oh God!"

"Wh—I wasn't giving you any details!" Technically, it was even healthy for them to have an interface every so often because it helped keep their lubrications running smoothly. Then again, he was sure Miko would vomit if he told her that. He rolled his optics in exasperation and said, "Look, Miko, calm it down. You're overreacting."

"Overreacting? I am NOT overreacting! All I want is a warning, okay? Cause I so swear if I walk in on you two and you're—you're—AUGH!"

"Miko! I didn't say she was a frag buddy!" Wheeljack groaned, trying to sort through his thoughts and calm Miko down the same. "It's not like that. Look—Okay. I just wanted to give you a heads up that Arcee and I are a 'thing' so you wouldn't upheave all over the floor if I give her a passing kiss or something!"

"Oh my God, you kiss her—" and Miko flopped her face back into her hands.

Bewilderment covered Wheeljack. He pulled off the side of the road before they headed into the base, saying, "What? What's wrong with kissing her? What's so bad about her?"

Miko looked up helplessly. "I mean—You—SHE'S—Augh, I don't know! It's just weird!"

"Weird?"

"Yes, weird!" Miko groaned again, shaking her head. "Look. It's not like I don't like her or anything, it's just . . . Arcee? She has about as sweet as a dying puppy."

"She is not!"

"Tell that to someone who's only see her uptight and obsessive! And you—YOU? I mean, sure you can be sweet, but I can't honestly picture it—"

"I can give you a picture."

Miko choked. "No! No, you keep that to yourself, and I'll keep to myself, thank you very much. Oh God . . ."

Wheeljack paused. "So are we okay?"

Miko flopped back heavily in her seat with a pinched face, but nodded. "Yeah, okay, thanks for the warning. That's a lot to take in at once when I just came back . . ."

Wheeljack chuckled and drove them into the base. "Thanks, Babe."

"Yeah, thank me later when I'm not about to puke all over your floors again."

"Don't even think about it."

"Try me."

* * *

><p>"You sure this is a good idea?"<p>

Wheeljack chuckled. "Good idea? Pit, Miko, this is about the worst idea I've had in a long time."

Miko shifted. "So are we gonna make it out alive?"

Wheeljack laughed. "Yeah. We'll have to run like hell, and I might suffer a wrench on the way, but we'll make it out alive."

"Mh." Miko shifted, eyeing the cargo in the back seat. "So . . . are you sure it's going to work?"

"Positive."

"You rewired a lot of things."

"I just strung them together. This way, they'll all go off in rapid succession."

"You sure?"

"Miko, explosives are something I'm good at."

She turned back to the front, looking out the window. "Is it going to be worth it?"

"Well worth it."

"Okay. So if I die by the unholy Ratchet-the-Hatchet wrath, I'll die happy."

"And laughing. But you're not going to die. Most likely, I will."

"That's unfortunate."

Wheeljack laughed. "You're telling me."

Miko grinned them, biting her lip and looking back at the cargo again. She turned back to the front. "So? What's it going to be like?"

"Lots of smoke."

She gave a half giggle half snort before managing to muffle it. "Really? Jackie, is this going to hurt him?"

"Oh, it'll hurt, but nothing life threatening. It's not like the medic putting the jumper cables on backwards and nearly frying your computer. Seriously? That can kill a mech. This is more like . . . falling on your aft."

"Really?"

" . . . Really hard?"

Miko narrowed her eyes. "Breaking it?"

"No no no!" he hurried. He chuckled. "No, it's more like . . . Dislocating your hip! That's more like it."

"Wheeljack, that hurts."

"Oh please, the Doc's lived through worse."

"If you say so . . ."

"Don't worry," he told her, and he revved his engines playfully. "We won't run far, just far enough that the devil can't get us. I'll come back when the Prime's got him calmed down and lucid and I'll fix him back up myself."

Miko giggled at that and muttered, "Just as long as he doesn't kill you first . . ."

"Trust me when I say—I am going to get HELL for this!"

The base drew into sight as he said that, and Miko giggled like an imp all the way inside—she only stifled her laughter when they got fully inside to see a typically stressed Ratchet at his computers. Wheeljack transformed up with his standard, "What's up, Doc?" and punched him in the shoulder. Ratchet grumbled; he sat Miko with the boys; he punched Bumblebee. This time, when he passed Arcee, he chucked her chin affectionately to which she only scowled and crossed her arms. Wheeljack chuckled and went to lean against the wall and plot the medic's downfall.

He'd wait for Optimus to show up. THEN he'd unleash their prank and let the Prime cool Ratchet's pistons. Then he'd come back and apologize by fixing him up. And—ah! There was the Prime now. Aaaand he was talking to Ratchet, okay, wait a bit longer . . .

There. Wheeljack reached inside his chest to his seats and brought out the sizable wad of firecrackers. Miko—on the sharp watch for this—grinned widely and paused the game and tapped the boys, telling them. Wheeljack struck the match Miko had supplied, lit the fuse, and threw the wad—1,000 fire crackers—beneath Ratchet's feet just as Optimus caught what he was doing.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Ratchet roared, leaping from foot to foot at the miniature explosions rocking beneath him noisily, and Miko and Wheeljack both collapsed into laughter. Bumblebee, Raf, and Jack giggled unwillingly as the medic danced awkwardly, and then—the magic.

Above the clattering pops of the noisy fireworks, a distinct deeper crack was heard that was echoed by Ratchet gasping, optics popping, and the medic fell on his aft, a hand flashing to his side. Wheeljack's laughter faltered a moment—had he really hurt him? But the fire of anger was back in an instant as Ratchet scrabbled backwards, kicking the firecrackers away with a furious bellow of, "WHEELJACK!"

Miko squealed. "JACKIE!"

The furious medic was scrambling back to his feet, smoke pouring from his side and beginning to coat that side of the room. Wheeljack, laughing so hard that tears sparked in his optics, scooped up his conniving partner and transformed down around her, bolting from the silo with a squeal of tires. He had just made it to the mouth of the silo when a wrench hit with the impact of a bullet, denting his driver-side door in so far he felt it bite his protoform.

Giggles and laughter all the way out until their sides hurt.

Dragged back by Optimus Prime.

Then, with another painful wrench to the helm, Wheeljack grinned and bore the medic's black glare as he popped his hood to fix his blown gasket.

"C'mon, Doc, it was all just in a little fun!"

_BANG!_

"Augh! C'mon now, I'm trying to work on you!"

"Then shut it or I'll really let you have it!"

Wheeljack tucked his dutiful head and struggled to control his sniggering as Miko openly giggled and wiped tears from her eyes. "Aw, Ratchet, you should have seen yourself! It was pure gold!"

Jack grinned shamelessly, leaning on the railing next to Miko. "Ratchet, I hate to admit it, but . . . it WAS funny!"

Ratchet just glowered at them from the medical berth before shaking his wrench. "If Optimus weren't here and you were any less squishy, you'd get it too!"

Raf blinked widely, pushing up his glasses on his nose. "Ratchet, are you going to be okay?"

"Just fine assuming SOMEONE doesn't screw things up . . ."

Wheeljack's lips tilted up shamelessly. "Don't you worry you're pretty little head, Doc. You're in good hands." As he kept his servos busy, Wheeljack shook his head with a grin. "Y'know, Doc—"

_BANG!_

Wheeljack yelped, cringing away from the offending wrench and a servo flashed to his helm. "Don't call me Doc!"

Another amused laugh fell from Wheeljack's mouth. "All right, D—Ratch. Y'know, for a second there, you had me worried."

Ratchet scoffed and laid back. "Ha, you worried . . ."

As he loosened the medic's water pump belt by loosening the tensioning belt in front of the alternator, he smirked. "Believe it or not, old timer. At your age, it was a good thing you didn't throw a rod! Guess that's a good thing about having high oil pressure, eh?"

He patted the top of the medic's hood as he removed the alternator belt and laid it on the radiator hose, and as he figured for his snarky remark, he suffered another blow of the wrench to him. He flinched away with a laugh, truly enjoying himself too much to really be worried about the dents. Besides, Miko had been giddy as he'd ever seen her, as much a reward as he needed.

Miko leaned over the railing, looking down into Ratchet's engine as Wheeljack worked. "Jackie? What do you mean he could have thrown a rod?"

"Well," he said, rooting around in Ratchet's chassis, "if the rod breaks while the piston is on its way up, the piston keeps going up until it jams itself permanently into the cylinder head. If the rod breaks while the piston is coming down, the broken rod can pierce a hole right through the engine block."

Jack made a face. "Ouch?"

Miko made a weird face too. "That sounds like it hurts."

"It does," Wheeljack said as he made sure he had enough room to pull out the head gasket. "It's . . . like a compound bone fracture breaking through the skin."

"Ouch!"

"Jackie!" Miko burst, eyes widening. "I thought you said it wasn't going to hurt him that bad!"

"Hey, he didn't throw a rod, now did he?"

Miko's indignant, "But he could have!" was drowned by another rocketing clang of wrench against metal, and Wheeljack yelped while rubbing his helm. "Knock it off, Doc, I'm trying to work here!"

_BANG!_

"DOC!"

_BANG!_

"Quit calling me Doc!"

Wheeljack sputtered. "Okay, RATCHET, then what was that for?"

_BANG!_

"For the thought of throwing a rod! And that last one for doing it in the first place!"

Wheeljack rubbed his helm and shook his head. "Well . . . All right, I guess I deserved that—"

_BANG!_

Wheeljack cringed and rubbed his helm. "Okay, and probably that one too . . ."

"And any more you get."

Wheeljack inwardly rolled his optics and leaned down carefully pulling up the blown gasket. He held it up for the kids with a grin.

"Eh? Beauty, isn't it?"

_BANG!_

By Primus, by the time he was done here he was going to be the one on the berth!


	27. Soul Searching

Wheeljack sat parked patiently outside of the school building next to Arcee. His hologram sat in the driver's seat while "Sadie" had been dismissed a while ago. Currently, Arcee was nitpicking at his disguise . . . again.

"Wheeljack," she said lowly, "I can't be talking to you! What if someone hears? And you! If they see you talking to thin air, they'll think you're crazy!"

Wheeljack arched a brow at her. "That so? Well, here," and he added a tiny mechanism to his ear and pointed to it. "See? Bluetooth. Now people won't think I'm crazy."

When she failed to respond, Wheeljack turned his head and frowned. "What?" Still, there was no answer. "Oh, I see what this is," he said smartly—or dumbly. "It's the silent treatment. What I can't figure out is if it's because I was being a cheeky bastard or if you're just scared to talk to me."

"Wheeljack," she growled quietly, "shut up."

"If you want me to that bad."

So, they sat in petulant silence as they waited on Jack and Miko from school. Bumblebee came flying up, and the scout beeped a couple times in irritation as all the good parking spots were gone with his late arrival. He pulled around the curve to go find somewhere else. Several more uneventful minutes later, the bell rang, and kids began to pour out of the school.

Amongst the mix of squishy meat bags were Jack and Miko and Raf. Raf, having heard from Bumblebee where the scout was parked, waved and jogged off further into the parking lot. Jack immediately got on Arcee and tried to start her up—only for her engine to stall in the refusal to move. When Miko tried to open Wheeljack's door, she found it locked.

"All right you two," Arcee said when they started to get irritated, "switch out."

Jack blinked, taken aback. "Switch?"

"Yeah," Wheeljack said. He rolled down his driver side window to jerk his thumb towards his free seat. "You're with me today, kid," he said. "Babe, you're with Monkey Butt."

Miko's indignant, "I'm WHAT?" was drowned out by Arcee's, "She's with WHO?"

Wheeljack's hologram frowned and rubbed his jaw. "Scrap. I guess Monkey Butt isn't what I'm looking for. Honey Bun?"

"Oh, you are NOT giving me a pet name."

"Sure I am, Sweet Cakes," he said cheekily. "I just gotta find the right one."

Jack sputtered. "Wait—You mean you two are a thing? Since when did this happen!"

"Just one of many things we need to talk about man-to-man," Wheeljack said. "Now Miko, I'm gonna let you throw your things in the back, but you're riding with Arcee today and Jack's hanging with me today. All right?"

She narrowed her eyes as he let her open his door. "What are you two playing at?"

"Nothing," he said innocently. "Just getting to know each other out of our cliques of two. Now hop in, kid. Babe, Num Nums, I'll see you two later."

Arcee growled at him as Miko slunk off petulantly to the motorcycle. "Wheeljack, I so swear—!"

Wheeljack just laughed as he pulled out with Jack as his passenger and peeled out before she could say anything more. Then, slouching his hologram comfortably into the seat, he shot Jack a look. "So. It's just you and me."

The human shifted slightly. "Yeah, I guess it is. So, you and Arcee? When did this happen?"

"New Years," Wheeljack said easily. He stretched his suspension slightly before slunking the car back low. Primus he hated bumper-to-bumper-after-school traffic.

Jack frowned. "Were you guys drunk?"

"Sober as Optimus," he said, grinning at his own joke. Jack's brows pinched a moment as he thought about this.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." When Jack continued to look a little skeptical, Wheeljack felt prompted to add, "Trust me, kid—I wouldn't try anything while Arcee was vulnerable cause she'd beat the scrap out of me. On top of that, neither Arcee nor I are particularly open people about our feelings. The fact that we even talked at all or even made a connection is sheer luck. Good luck, but luck."

Jack made a sound in the back of his throat, and as Wheeljack pulled out into the street, he turned his head to the teenager in the seat with him. "So, you and me are going to have a talk, kid. Man to man."

Jack, a little intimidated, only said, "What do you mean?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "So? Human tradition is to ask the father, isn't it? Well, since Arcee came out of the Well of All Sparks like me, she doesn't have an actual father, and you're the one closest to her at the moment."

The human finally put two and two together. His eyes widened at the Wrecker. "Wait—You mean, you're asking me what I think about you?"

"Yeah. I'm asking if this is an arrangement fine with you."

Jack sputtered some more. "B-But—I thought you'd ask Miko?"

"Already did, kid," Wheeljack said easily. Jack frowned at being called a kid again. Wheeljack gave a shrug. "She was weirded out, but that's to be expected from her. Now, I'm asking you."

Jack turned, facing the front and staring out the windshield as he thought about this, Wheeljack and Arcee, and as he did, Wheeljack drove them away from Jasper. It wasn't until he merged onto the interstate that Jack began to talk.

"I think you'd be good for her." That simple admonishment made Wheeljack's brows lift—for some reason, he hadn't expected it from the human. Jack looked over at him. "You're a lot looser than she is, and she needs someone to help her relax. She's more of . . . herself when she's around you. You pull out her strengths, and you're straight-forward way of talking keeps her on her toes; it also keeps her thinking clearly. She over-analyzes—you don't. It's a good foil."

Jack paused. "But more than that, you guys . . . fit together. I mean . . . You guys share so much in common. And that strengthens the bond. You can sympathize with her pains, she can with yours, and you can help each other through that. That's what things are supposed to be like, right?" He didn't wait for Wheeljack's response but shook his head, continuing, "But I think . . . I think you're going to have to give her space. After all . . . She just got out of two relationships that ended in the worst way. They both died. And that's what makes me doubt you the most. You've almost died twice already in less than half the time I've known you compared to the others. That's what's scaring her the most. The thought that she'll get you and give her heart to you and then you'll be gone."

Wheeljack, barely paying attention to where he was going, studied this human that had taken his passing question with sobriety and had thought through it as clearly as . . . as the Prime would. And his steely eyes wouldn't falter from Wheeljack's as he very seriously approached this topic.

One day, Arcee's going to look up, and he's going to be a man. He's not there yet, but . . . He's going to be as wise as Optimus. It's no wonder the Prime likes him so much.

"You've got to be patient."

Wheeljack blinked. "Huh?"

Jack nodded. "She's still hurting from Tailgate and Cliffjumper. She's not about to rush into anything, so . . . don't rush her. Let her make her own decisions. She's still plagued by loss and afraid of commitment. She's going to be stubborn, and she's not going to make it easy for you—but if you can break through her shell," and Jack leaned back suddenly with a grin, "she's all yours."

Wheeljack grinned back, instinctively lifting the hologram's fist and tightening his seatbelt on the human. "You got it, champ."

Jack mock-fist-bumped Wheeljack, and as the Lancia turned down the interstate, Jack leaned up. "Hey—wait! The base is back there!"

"I know, cool your pistons! We're not done here yet."

Jack turned, brows scrunching. "We're not?"

"No, we're not. What's going on with you and Miko?"

Jack blushed hotly. "I—She—What?"

Wheeljack snorted as he revved his engine. "Puh-lease, champ. It's written all over your face. You like her. That's not a secret to anyone. I'm just trying to figure out what you're planning for her."

His blush deepened and he stuttered, "I—I'm not planning anything for her!"

"You're not?"

"I—I mean . . . No! I mean . . ."

His hologram rolled his eyes. "Champ, please. You've backed off so much I think she's getting mixed signals. You gotta make your move someday."

Jack dipped his head. "Well . . ."

"Look, what's that thing that happens in February? Valentine's Day! There you go. Do something cute then. Get her some chocolate crickets or something."

Jack turned a shade of green. "Crickets?"

The Lancia shrugged one wheel. "Eh, she mentioned she'd like to see if they're really that disgusting or not . . . Look, I'm just saying get her some roses and chocolate! Or something! If you're interested, you've gotta let the girl know you're interested. And don't be too girly about it, she'd skin you alive."

* * *

><p>Riding with Arcee was different.<p>

Both girls were completely silent as the motorcycle went down the road. Miko had complained about having helmet hair, but the femme promising to pin her down and shove the helmet on got Miko to give in. When Miko still hadn't spoken and Arcee still hadn't managed to say anything, the blue motorcycle huffed to herself and veered off the interstate and to the deserted back roads. Miko didn't say anything, simply kept her hands a bit tighter than prudent on her handlebars.

Arcee slowed so the wind wasn't whipping at Miko, and she said, "So. I guess you've already heard from Wheeljack what's going on between us?"

Miko wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, you're banging each other."

Arcee vented sharply to control her temper. "No, we—"

"Then it's like dating. You guys aren't going to get tired of each other?"

Arcee huffed again. "No, Miko. It's not a fling, not a crush, not a frag buddy . . . No. It's . . . a long term relationship that survives the tortures of war and peace."

Miko paused, and she looked down on the motorcycle she rode. "So it's serious?"

It was Arcee's moment to hedge. "It . . . Yes. As much as I'm going to let it."

Miko made a face. "As much as YOU'RE going to let it?"

"I've got some serious and unsolved problems in my past," Arcee said. She left it at that, and Miko had the good graces not to pry. But, she did say:

"So? Wheeljack's got problems too, and you don't see them holding him back."

Arcee veered off the path, and after going across the sands for some time, she pulled behind the shelter of the high cliffs and stopped, letting Miko off. As Miko yanked off the helmet and tried to straighten her hair some, Arcee transformed and looked down at her.

"Look, it's not the same thing."

Miko narrowed her eyes at her. "Oh really? You were tortured; he was tortured. You've lost partners; he's lost partners. You want revenge; he wants revenge. I don't see much difference."

Arcee scowled. "It's different because his partners were just his buddies. The mechs I lost were mechs I was in a relationship with. Mechs I loved."

Miko dropped her face. Arcee almost felt bad for pushing the girl's buttons, but she was surprised at the glare she received.

"So? You're telling me you're not even going to give Wheeljack a chance."

The femme recoiled. What? "I didn't say that—"

"Yeah you did!" Miko interrupted. She pointed her finger. "You said—I know what Wheeljack's like! You know what Wheeljack's like! He's a danger magnet! He's just as likely to die in battle as he is just in his friendly experimenting! You won't want to get in a relationship with him because you'll be scared that he's going to die. So why even lead him on?"

Miko crossed her arms jealously, and Arcee leaned back, astounded at the young human. Sure, she had seen Wheeljack this possessive about the girl, but . . . to see that devotion showed the other way around was certainly something to behold. Miko acted like she could take on the world out of being protective about Wheeljack getting his spark hurt.

But . . . it also made Arcee stop and think for a second. Was she leading him on? She took a moment to mull it over before she knelt down on a knee to look Miko in the eye.

"I won't lie," Arcee said seriously. "I . . . I did feel something on New Year's. I couldn't deny it then, and I can't deny it now. And yes, Miko, I AM scared. I'm scared that this is just going to end with spark break again. After going through it twice . . . I'm not sure how I'd take a third time. And Wheeljack—he's just—he's irresponsible! He's—he's troublesome. Annoying. Dangerous. He's more likely to kill himself by blowing himself up than dying on the battlefield!" Arcee scowled, rubbing her forehead. "Sometimes I wonder why I even like the fragger . . ."

Miko perked up suddenly. "Is he hot?"

Hot energon flushed into Arcee's cheeks. "W—What are you talking about? That's not even relevant to the subject!"

"Yes it is!" Miko grinned. "Now c'mon. Fess up. Is he hot? On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being Steven Tyler and 10 being Johnny Depp?"

Stressed, Arcee rubbed her forehead again. "I don't know . . ."

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that. Jackie said you were hot."

Arcee rolled her optics. "Figures . . ."

"So? Don't be difficult, c'mon."

Miko's cheeky little grin was getting on her nerves, but the more she thought about it the more she couldn't deny it. Using her servo to shield her burning face as much as she could—since she was probably so red it had given her away already—she muttered, "Nine."

Miko took it in greedily, rubbing her hands together with delicious gossip. "Ooh, really? A nine, that's good. You ever seen a ten?"

Arcee's lips skewed up. "They'd have to be slagging hot."

Miko grinned to herself, somehow supremely entertained at this thought. "So, I have a hot guardian . . . Hm. Does your hologram resemble how hot you are?" Miko nodded, answering her own question. "Yeah, it's gotta, we've got too many drooling girls watching us . . ."

"Miko."

She looked up. "Yeah?"

Arcee sighed. "I think we got off topic."

Miko shrugged. "I get it. You guys are a thing. Not much I can do there." She suddenly squinted an eye and pointed up at her. "I'm just going to keep my eye on you. I've got my Jackie's back."

Arcee's mouth tipped up again. "Right. Now, I've got a question for you—Jack?"

A blush was already creeping up Miko's jawline. "What about him?"

Arcee shrugged and smirked at her. "Let's start with this—on a scale from Steven Tyler to Johnny Depp, how hot is he?"

Miko snorted. "Please. Something like a three."

Arcee leaned back some, a little affronted for her human partner. "He's not that bad. I might not be a human, but I can tell a good-looking human from an ugly one. And Jack isn't ugly."

Miko rolled her eyes with another snort. "Please, he's not my type."

"Says the blush on your face whenever you kissed him." True to her words, Miko began to blush against her will, and the girl scowled, turning away to hide it. Arcee's gaze softened. "Look, Miko, I just want to know—are you interested in him or not? Because, I think he's been getting mixed signals from you." When Miko stubbornly kept her silence, not unlike another mech she knew, Arcee added gently, "It's okay to admit it, Miko."

"But I don't want to."

Arcee chuckled. "You sound like me."

"I do?"

Miko looked back then. Arcee nodded. "Yeah. You do. When I first met Tailgate . . . I never wanted to admit it to him." A hot blush suddenly came over her face before she shook her head with a small, whimsical smile. "Well, let's just say that ended very forcefully . . . I'm not saying Jack is going to do that, he never would, but he is eligible. I'm sure there are other girls."

Miko's eyes flashed, and Arcee saw it. She almost grinned. Oh, so the girl DID want Jack. "So what's the problem?" she asked.

Miko's jaw tightened. "He's kissed me before."

Arcee's brow rose. "Really?"

Miko nodded. "When I woke up in the hospital after Dreadwing. I was freaking out and . . . Jack calmed me down."

"That sounds like Jack."

Miko nodded. "Then I slapped him."

Arcee sputtered. "W—What?"

Miko shrugged. "He was making fun of me in front of the nurse."

There was a pause. Arcee shook her head and gave Miko a helpless smile. "I often wonder why we fall for the most troublesome ones."

Miko snorted. "You're telling me."

Arcee leaned back on her pistons, looking up at the sky. After a moment, she asked, "Hey, Miko?"

"Yeah?"

"What have you and Wheeljack decided to do about Dreadwing?"

She looked down on the small human as she asked this, and Miko seemed to pale a little at the thought. She shuffled her feet, turning her face away as she mumbled, "Well . . . I dunno . . . We haven't really talked about it."

"You need to," Arcee told her softly. "He's still beating himself up about it. And you need to come to some sort of a closure about Dreadwing."

For a second, Arcee thought she saw tears spark in Miko's eyes, but she turned quickly towards the sunset, so she missed it. "Um . . . He still deserves it. After losing Bulkhead like that . . . But I don't want Wheeljack to get hurt again."

After a moment of indecision, Arcee nudged her back gently with a finger. "Hey, Miko . . . That's war. We all go out, not knowing if we're coming back from the next fight. So many things can go wrong—a slip of your blade, a stray bullet . . . You've just got to trust that we're going to come back. But . . . I think that if we avoid any unnecessary fighting, like trying to find Dreadwing . . . I think that'll help keep casualties to a minimum. Right?"

Miko sniffed a moment and nodded. "Yeah. Right."

Arcee nudged her again before transforming down. "Ready to head back to base?"

Miko paused. She turned with a frown at Arcee. "Do you think Jack's EVER going to get up off his lazy butt and ask me out?"

Arcee gave a laugh. "Well, I don't know . . . Give him until Valentine's Day. That'll give him a couple weeks to figure out how to approach you."

Miko snorted and climbed on.

"Helmet."

"ARCEE!"

* * *

><p>Overall, Wheeljack felt like the day had gone . . . surprisingly well. He got along with Jack quite well for a stuffy human, and it had actually been Miko that impatiently called for him to get back. Which, brought him to his current position—on top of the silo with Miko as the sky darkened with the night and spit rain on them; therefore, Miko had thankfully left Bulky inside with Ratchet and Optimus. Last he had seen, Bulky had been getting his little cat claws into Optimus's ankle. Wheeljack opened up the back of the Jackhammer as Miko darted in, tracking mud with her boots.<p>

I'm gonna have to clean that up.

Instead, he paid it less mind since Miko seemed to realize that she was tracking and sat down to unlace her boots and leave them close to the entrance. Wheeljack scooped her up and plopped her in the passenger seat and sat next to her. He gave a heavy sigh.

"Jack's a good kid. You can't go wrong there."

"Yeah. Arcee's fine too."

Wheeljack grunted and nodded. "You tell me if he ever screws you over. He'll wish he hadn't."

"Same with Arcee. I might be little, but I'm handy with a crowbar."

Wheeljack vented and crossed his arms behind his head, slouching comfortably. As he did, stretching his legs, Miko shuffled next to him, curling into a ball.

"Jackie?"

He crossed his ankles, jutting his hips a little bit more to slump. "Yeah?"

"What are we going to do about Dreadwing?"

All the relaxation that had begun to steal over him stilled. Wheeljack sat up and looked down at Miko. Instead of looking comfortable, she seemed scrunched up and scared. He reached over, nudging her gently.

"I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do."

"But I don't know if I don't want you to go after Dreadwing!" Miko covered her mouth after the outburst, and she looked down, shaking her head and rubbing her eyes momentarily. "I just . . . I don't want you to get hurt. But I still want Dreadwing dead." Her jaw worked tightly, and she shook her head vigorously. Her hands clenched. "I just . . . I can't forgive him," she whispered. "I can't. Bulkhead was . . . more than just my best friend. W-When I came to Jasper, I didn't think I'd ever find a friend. And then, when I met Bulkhead . . . I met my other half. No one's ever just . . . clicked with me like he did. Fixed things I didn't know were broken."

Wheeljack felt his throat bob. Yeah, he knew it, but . . . it still hurt. He wasn't ever going to be able to stand up to what Bulkhead had meant to her. Sometimes he felt like he had resigned himself to that, and sometimes he felt so jealous of the fallen Wrecker he couldn't see straight. Both hurt his spark like hell either with guilt for the jealousy or that familiar creep of failure for not being able to soothe Miko's heart, but Wheeljack had finally managed to resign himself to these things. He was there to fill what he could; he couldn't be more than that. Besides, he had already proven that he was filling a role that had been abused her whole life.

"So . . . I guess . . . I don't want you putting yourself in danger."

He rubbed her back soothingly. "Done."

She turned her face away. "But . . . If you ever get the chance . . . Send him to the Pit."

His throat tightened. "Done," he rasped.

There was a still beat of silence. A soft sob preceded the words, "Jackie, I miss Bulkhead . . ."

Wheeljack vented gently and scooped her up in his palm. Bringing her to his chassis, he let her cuddle up there and cry softly. The familiar feel of tears trickling down his chest tore his spark out.

"Me too, Miko. Me too . . ."


	28. Energon Stained Hands

**Author's Note:**

**I present to you, Transformers Prime episode Armada: WHEELJACK style.**

**Also, I think this is the very first chapter in which Miko did not make a debut**

* * *

><p>Scrap.<p>

That was smooth.

Wheeljack crept down the halls of the _NEMESIS_ hoping and praying he'd never have to face Miko with this story or she'd never stop giving him hell about it.

Fell into an energon load of the Decepticons, blacked out, and woke up on the _NEMESIS._

Wheeljack muffled a groan as he crept around. That sounded like something clumsy that Bulkhead would do!

Still his spark twisted. Miko may not approve, but . . . if Dreadwing ran into him and not the other way around, that gave way for scraping him, right? It sure did. His bloodlust sang at the thought of getting the 'Cons energon on his servos again. It'd serve the glitch right. And it'd give him some sweet revenge for where he had left him last time.

Wheeljack smirked to himself as a small group of Vehicons blew by without noticing him. Backing up with a delighted grin, Wheeljack could only think, why not use this to his advantage?

He bumped into seeker wings. Wheeljack whipped around quickly, pointing his blasters at none other than Starscream, who also had his missiles pointed at him.

"Screamer."

"Wheeljack?"

The seeker dropped his arms with irritation, huffing, "Why is it that every time I return to my old stomping grounds I find an Autobot roaming the halls?"

His spark roared to life in anger while his processor raged for common sense—Starscream could show him how to get off of the _NEMESIS_ without getting his body splattered against the ground. But by Primus, this was the mech that had skewered Cliffjumper, had nearly destroyed Bumblebee's T-Cog, had almost landed a killing blow on Arcee, and a filthy, retro-rat coward to top it all off—Wheeljack HATED cowards. Starscream most of all!

Fury boiled up before sense could take over. Winding up and letting his fist fly, Wheeljack clocked Starscream right beneath his jaw, sending the tiny seeker sprawling flat on his back. With a roar, Wheeljack leapt up with a two-handed strike that landed right on Starscream's chest plates, making the seeker shriek when his chassis dented in, inflaming his spark.

Wheeljack pinned him down with a dark scowl. The seeker looked up with a gaping mouth and wide optics, astounded that an Autobot hadn't even given him a chance. "This is for Cliffjumper!" Wheeljack shouted, and he struck Starscream across the chest again. "For Bumblebee!" His fist met his jaw. "For Arcee!" He broke his collarbone with an ear-splitting shriek. "For all the slag you've done!" He gripped his throat and slammed his helm into the ground, dizzying the seeker. Starscream wheezed thinly and shook beneath him.

"N-No!" he croaked out weakly. "W-Wait, I—"

Wheeljack slammed him to the ground again, not giving a scrap if he was found out now. "You're gonna pay, Screamer," he said darkly. He pressed his servo harder on the seeker's throat, making him gasp and his hands to scrabble at his neck. "You're gonna wish you had never touched my friends." His servos tightened, nearly crushing the seeker's neck cables. "And I'm going to make you _scream."_

At this point, Wheeljack lost himself in the dark thrill of revenge. His knuckles bloodied themselves with Starscream's energon, beating the seeker into oblivion. Starscream shrieked and screamed, thrashing in pain beneath him, and it was a wonder his screeching didn't bring the whole of the _NEMESIS_ down on their location. He fell silent before he stopped cringing at each devastating blow. Wheeljack didn't pause in his beating of him until Starscream's body slacked limp.

Wheeljack brought his fist back one more time before he realized Starscream was dead. He shook in rage, but something dark was eating away at his spark as he stared into what was left of Starscream's disfigured face that didn't quite resemble himself anymore. Energon was seeping on the ground from cracks and fissures in the seeker's armor, and his knuckles had imprinted lethal blows over the length of his chassis.

Wheeljack stood to his peds, quaking, but he wasn't sure what made him quake; anger, hate, pity, or fear? He gritted his dentures, picking up the seeker's limp body by the neck and tossing him effortlessly into the wall and out of the middle of the walkway.

"He was a pathetic wretch anyway," Wheeljack hissed to himself. He walked on, bottom of his peds wetted with the seeker's energon and leaving footprints all down the hall. He shook his leading servo, dripping with the seeker's energon, but without a cloth, the energon would drip until it dried as a grisly painting of his deed.

Though, it became quickly apparent to Wheeljack that he couldn't keep walking out in the open like this—Soundwave would pick up on him sooner or later, and there were too many Vehicons to keep dodging. He tried to contact the base on a hallway computer, but he just ended up triggering a Decepticon beacon with their whacked up computer keys (a good enough thing in itself) before he had to duck into the service ducts to avoid getting caught. After all, he was a fantastic fighter, but he didn't like the odds of an entire ship of Decepticons to one.

_I'm crawling through service ducts. What kind of Wrecker am I!_

Wheeljack quietly huffed to himself as he wiggled his way through the narrow space, glaring at each ped that walked by and forcibly vowing NOT to cut the Achilles tendon. Instead, keeping his wingtips slouched low so they wouldn't scrape the top of the duct, Wheeljack crawled along, wondering how to get off of the boat. After all, he hadn't seen any escape pods yet, a surprising feat, since there were usually escape pods lined on the port and starboard side of any space ship, a standard and requirement of any space traveling vessel. Even IF Megatron believed he wouldn't need escape pods, Wheeljack didn't believe he would simply omit them from the infrastructure.

"Lord Megatron!"

Wheeljack froze; he blinked; he turned his head and saw the great nemesis he named his warship after. And, his heels were directly in his line of sight.

"Yes, what is it?" Megatron said with a touch of impatience.

"There's an intruder!"

Wheeljack shifted. Oh scrap. Not good.

"Autobot?"

He reached for his katanas.

"Starscream."

Wheeljack blinked. Well, that certainly was an ironic thing. Here he had gotten rid of Megatron's most—

"He was last seen in the vicinity of the bridge."

THE BRIDGE? Wheeljack felt his optics pop. That was—no way. He had killed him—Where had he killed him? They weren't in the bridge of the ship, that was at the bow, and Wheeljack thought he had been somewhere in the center of the ship . . . but if he had been at the bow before he had begun to move so far, that must mean he was at the center of the ship. At this rate he was going to be at the stern!

Heavy footfalls walked away. Wheeljack turned as much as he could, glaring at Megatron's heels disappearing down the halls and cursing himself that he hadn't tried to jump the mech when he had the chance. Taking out his Achilles might be a low blow, but it would have worked.

Wait—the stern. The engines. Wheeljack smirked to himself. Well, if he couldn't land the ship and couldn't find the escape pods . . . His fingers brushed over the one bomb he carried on his waist. Ah, yes, this was going to be fun.

Then, not many minutes later, blows began to rock the ship.

Wheeljack felt his optics widen. What the frag was happening? Those kind of blows were hard enough to be laser fire! But where did the Autobots get that kind of firepower? They didn't have firepower like that . . .

Wheeljack couldn't dwell on it that much, however, as he squeezed through the service ducts. The blasts continued. Vehicons ran down the halls, calling out orders from Dreadwing, though Wheeljack never did see his nemesis. Instead, after eons of spending time in those pesky service ducts, the blasting stopped. As it did, Wheeljack could hear the hum of engines drawing near. Good!

Wheeljack smirked as he pounded on the bottom of the service duct, finding his way to the engines. Picking up his grenade and tossing it up and down playfully, he saluted up to a camera.

"This one's for you, Megatron!"

Then, he ever so deliberately took the pin out and tossed the live grenade down the shaft of the engines. The resounding blast shook the stacked energon and rocked the entire ship. The _NEMESIS _tipped, diving. Wheeljack leapt down the blasted hole with a whoop, finding his way to the back ramp of the _NEMESIS_ that would allow him to escape once they hit the ground. As he ran out, winds whipping his body, he saw—Starscream?"

A harsh rock and grind of the ship made him fall into him, and Starscream pushed away with the angry snarl of, "Out of my way!" Wheeljack covered his face just in time to avoid the searing heat of his thrusters as Starscream transformed and took off.

Wheeljack stared after the disappearing seeker in shock. He had killed him. His spark hadn't been glowing. The mech had been dead!

Still, Wheeljack didn't dwell on it long. The _NEMESIS_ hit the ground harshly and grinded across the ground, sharp protrusions digging into the earth and slowing its jagged crash. Wheeljack pitched to the side and held on as the tremors rocked up the ship, and then, he felt the ship tip threateningly. The Wrecker prepared to jump off, but then, the ship tipped back and settled.

Wheeljack smirked. He hoped Megatron would like his parting gift, and, transforming down, Wheeljack bolted off the _NEMESIS _with a mocking catcall. It was just a pity he hadn't run into Dreadwing!

With a bridge back to the base, Wheeljack transformed up with a great laugh, grinning. "You guys aren't gonna BELIEVE the scrap that happened to me today!"

And then, his laughter died in his throat. Airachnid stood in the base with the MOST hideous face of anger he had ever seen, stuck in a stasis pod. Ratchet, Arcee, and Optimus stood to the side, only Bumblebee missing which Wheeljack immediately deduced that he had taken the humans home. Instead of something bright, all he could say was,

"Guess we both got stories to tell."

Arcee blinked at him before her optics drew down. She took a wary step forward. "I think you'd better start first."

Wheeljack felt his optics widen, and then he remembered—he looked down, seeing Starscream's energon stained dry on his knuckles like bright blue paint. Figuring he might as well lay it flat, he said bluntly, "I killed Starscream."

Arcee gaped. When even Ratchet and Optimus seemed momentarily wiped speechless, Wheeljack rolled his shoulders unabashedly, saying, "Well, I thought I did. His spark wasn't beating, but when I finally got off the _NEMESIS_ he shoved me aside he was flying away so fast."

"The _NEMESIS_?" Arcee finally managed. "You killed—You—Wheeljack, what happened?"

He gestured to Airachnid. "What happened on YOUR end?" he countered. "I mean, you've got the spider glitch right here!"

"No, no, no," Arcee said, shaking her head and narrowing her optics slightly at Wheeljack. "I asked you first. How'd you get on the _NEMESIS_?"

Wheeljack crossed his arms. "Energon scouting. I fell right into one of their cargo pits and got picked up with the energon." When Arcee arched a brow, Wheeljack raised his servos in surrender. "Believe me or not, it doesn't make a difference to the truth. I started sneaking around in the effort to either find Dreadwing or a way off, and I ran into Screamer. And I . . ." He felt his wings perk aggressively at Arcee's incredulous face and Optimus and Ratchet's disapproving glares. "Yeah. I killed him. Beat him to death with my own hands. Got a problem?"

"Yes, I have a problem!" Arcee snapped. Honestly, Wheeljack had expected it from the Prime, so he looked down in surprise at Arcee who scowled up angrily at him. "What do you think you were doing! Did you even give him the chance to defend himself, or did you just barrel in like a raging bull?"

Had she wanted the kill that much for herself? Wheeljack opened his mouth to respond, saying, "I—"

"Are you out of your fragging mind?" Arcee walked up to him, looking up. "Why'd you kill him?"

"Why did I kill him?" Wheeljack barked. "I killed him for you!" Arcee had the good decency to be taken aback as Wheeljack scowled down at her. "You were the one that was so consumed with him! He killed Cliffjumper, remember? I did it for you! Not to mention what he did to Bumblebee's T-Cog! Besides, that coward needed to be put out of his misery anyways!"

Arcee hiked her chin up, not wavering an inch under his icy cold optics. "No. You don't kill for revenge."

"Oh, so that's why you left that glitch alive?" and he gestured to Airachnid again. "Don't you tell me that you don't want to kill her, I know you do." True, Arcee's optics twitched a little, but she didn't waver. Wheeljack gave the bark of a sarcastic laugh. "Oh what, you suddenly get Prime fever? Since when are you this much of a pathetic do-gooder? You know Airachnid's fit for nothing but the scrap heap! Why are you letting her live?" And then, Wheeljack looked up at Optimus. His optics narrowed even before he had fixed them back on Arcee. "Oh no. You're throwing your morals away for him? What's really—"

"Not like that you half-clock," she interrupted with a scowl. "I did it for me!"

Wheeljack snorted, crossing his arms and glaring down at her. "Oh really? Yourself?"

"Yes, myself!" Arcee snapped. She leaned up into his face. "Airachnid WANTED me to kill her! She wanted me to kill her, to waste my life obsessing over her, and she wanted me to throw away my Autobot morals by murdering her for revenge and doing it in the most painful way possible—and I would have! So I didn't. I proved I was better than her!" Arcee didn't deceive him when she blinked several times—he had seen the tears that had wanted to come. "I did it for ME, Wheeljack! She doesn't control me, I control my own fate! And I proved I'm bigger than her by doing what she never could—letting it go."

Wheeljack turned away, scowling and rubbing the back of his helm. She believed it too. He could see it in her optics. She believed in that slag? She was more a charity case than he had realized. He stalked several paces away, brooding with his servos clenched to his hips, wings still perked aggressively. He didn't know how she thought something as foolish as that . . .

But, in reality, he could. Until he met Miko, he'd obsessed over Dreadwing. He still did to an extent, yes, but he hadn't been able to live at all unless it was chasing him. He had abandoned the Wreckers to avenge Seaspray. He hadn't even wanted to stay on Earth until he had been forcibly given Miko to take care of.

He turned back to Arcee and strode forward. She stepped back a little, body hinging up, and he could only guess that he looked absolutely intimidating in his anger right now for her to do that. He bent down close to her face again, optics narrowed at her.

"You believe that?"

After a moment, a firm nod.

He dropped his optics to his peds before the tension rolled from his shoulders and he grabbed Arcee on either side of her face and kissed her. She made a surprised sound, optics popping, but Wheeljack kissed her hard, full of anger and passion and hopelessness. He didn't even care if Ratchet and Optimus got a good look. Instead, he pressed the front of his helm to hers.

"Then I'm proud of you," he murmured to her. His servos tightened on her helm, dried energon flecking from his knuckles. "For doing what you believe in. And having the strength to overcome it." He shook his head. "After all . . . You're stronger than me. I don't think I'll ever have the strength to resist Dreadwing."

"Wheeljack . . ."

He felt her starting to reach up to him, so he backed off then, aware they had an audience. He shrugged. "Besides, I don't see why you're getting so riled up about this."

Arcee, taken off guard by his mood swings, stuttered, "U-Uh . . . I'm sorry?"

"Starscream." Wheeljack shrugged again. "It wasn't the real one I killed anyway. I saw the real one run off the ship like Megatron himself was snapping at his heels."

He barely had time to see Arcee rear her fist back and take the swing before her fist connected with his jaw. Wheeljack reared back a little at the pain, but he couldn't stop the grin and the laughter that bubbled up. Arcee, who had started to come back with a snappy response for his flippant attitude, but instead she blinked at him, stammering, "Wh—What's so funny?"

Wheeljack grinned. "Nothing. I just like getting you riled up. Sugar, it's hot."

She stared for a full beat before she rolled her optics with a snarl of her lips before turning and stalking out of the room with clenched fists, muttering the entire way.


	29. Pun And Funny Is Punny

Guess who was in the medical bay again?

Yeah.

. . .

Figures.

This time, however, it was of his own make.

Which, shouldn't be surprising at this point . . .

* * *

><p><em>After soothing Miko's complete crying spaz attack, Wheeljack then got her giggling, and then giggling became laughter until the Wrecker had to plead loss of energon because the laughing was making him lightheaded. Instead, jauntily depositing the ruined nuts in Miko's arms (even though he thought the medic wouldn't want them anyways, they looked beyond use) Wheeljack picked up his arm and carried it with a human at his heels.<em>

_ Riding the elevator down to the base, Wheeljack grinned at Miko before he walked into the silo, dripping energon everywhere. He spied said medic with a box in his hands, full of who knows what, all Wheeljack knew was that it looked heavy because he had picked it up with a grunt. Wheeljack nudged Miko with his foot and winked._

_ "Need a hand, Doc?"_

_ "I told you, my name is not Doc," the medic muttered irritably. "It's Ratc—WHEELJACK!" He dropped the box with a loud crash, and Wheeljack tried unsuccessfully to stop his snickering. "What did you do to your ARM!?"_

_ Wheeljack shrugged his good shoulder. "Eh, you know, same ol' same ol'." He held out his arm, hand first to Ratchet. "Sure you don't want that hand?"_

* * *

><p>"Oh, hey Doc, I think I found my finger you've been looking for. It's stuck in my hip here, so I can pull it out if you reall—"<p>

"Wheeljack, how fond are you of your other arm?"

"Shutting up."

Wheeljack had never seen the medic so furious before. His black glare was really nothing to be trifled with right now, and he really didn't think the CMO was bluffing about amputating his other arm, just to prove his point. Honestly, the only other time the medic had been so pissed off was when he made him blow his gasket.

Which . . . wasn't too long ago, in fact.

. . . Oops?

Miko sat idly up on the platform, watching Ratchet's deep scowl as he worked on her partner. She grinned widely. "Aw, Ratchet, you should have seen it! The blast was huge! I've even got the soot on me!"

"It was a really good one this time, an eight at least," Wheeljack mused.

A sharp BANG of his wrench had the Wrecker falling silent with a carangid rub of his aching helm.

Miko shrugged, kicking her feet as she said nonchalantly, "Easy, Ratchet, he only broke one finger, but on the other hand he's just fine."

It took a moment for the bad pun to sink in. Then, Wheeljack began to snort, struggling to hold back the laughter when Miko threw him a grin and a wink. Swallowing his snickering, Wheeljack tried to keep as straight a face as he possibly could as he said, "See, Ratch?" He waggled the five fingers on his good arm. "The other hand's just fine."

Another sharp whack of the wrench across the back of his servo made Wheeljack flinch, but he sputtered into laughter shamelessly again. Miko grinned again, calling, "You know, Ratchet, at least there's not two of Wheeljack. If he had a clone, you'd never have a break."

Wheeljack looked up to her, snapping his fingers. "Yeah! Cloning! Maybe I should figure that out next . . ."

Miko's lips twisted as she held back a smile. "You want to clone yourself? Now wouldn't that be just like you!"

Wheeljack tried so hard not to laugh at the bad pun that tears sparked into his optics. Ratchet just grumbled beneath his breath, a constant string of threats and promises muttered in tightly controlled ire.

"Oh, Jackie! Jackie, I've got a good one!"

"Let 'er fly!"

"Okay, so there's a ten pound baby born," Miko said. "Only, his body weighed five pounds and his balls weighed five pounds."

Wheeljack arched a brow. "Not sure if I like where this is going . . ."

Miko ignored him, saying, "Well, none of the doctors knew what to do with the baby, and when the nurse asked what to do with it, the chief surgeon said to put it in a mental institution. The head nurse asked why, and the surgeon said, 'Because clearly the boy's half NUTS!'"

Wheeljack and Miko roared with laughter. Ratchet hit Wheeljack with the wrench again and muttered for him to hold still if he ever wanted his arm back.

"Okay, I've got one for you, Babe," Wheeljack said. "A man with an electric saw cuts off all ten of his fingers." Ratchet was muttering even before he had gotten far into the joke, knowing it was going to be another doctor joke. "He rushes to the emergency room and the doctor says to give him the fingers and he'd see what he could do. The man says, 'But I don't have the fingers!' The doctor asks why not and the man said he couldn't pick them up!"

Again, Miko and Wheeljack laughed at their horrible jokes, getting Ratchet steamed up under his collar. Arcee drove in at this point, and she transformed up and arched a brow at Wheeljack who was still one arm down on the medical berth. She shook her head, pinching her brows.

"I don't EVEN wanna know."

Wheeljack chuckled, winking at the femme as Ratchet continued to attach his arm. "Sup, Arcee! We're having a blast over here."

Miko suddenly snorted so hard tears came into her eyes. "A blast! Like the one that took your arm!"

That got the human and mech going again, and Arcee just sent him a withering look. Ratchet muttered more, darker now with his words he was getting so worked up.

"Ooh! Jackie! I've got another! Kay, so a man calls the doctor and tells him that his wife is pregnant and her contractions are two minutes apart. The doctor asks if this is her first child, and the man shouts, 'No, you idiot, this is her husband!'"

Miko and Wheeljack collapsed into laughter again, and Arcee just rolled her optics to the heavens in a wordless plea. She understood how much Ratchet was fuming now. Stupid enough to blow his own arm off, and stupid enough to tell stupid jokes like that? She groaned.

"Aw, c'mon, Pookie. You know you love 'em." Arcee just scowled at the pet name. "Know any CPR, chickadee? Cause you're taking my breath away."

"Oh, you SLAY me, tiger."

Wheeljack grinned before wincing at a prod from Ratchet as the doctor finished attaching his arm back to his shoulder; he yanked the finger from his hips, decided it was salvageable, and began to attach it to Wheeljack's hand. "I know I do," Wheeljack said cockily.

Arcee tossed her head. "Well, I think you're missing the most obvious bad pun in the book."

Wheeljack arched a brow. "And that would be?"

A wicked grin split her facial features.

"Ratchet's giving you quite the hand job, Wheeljack."

* * *

><p>Miko saving the day—cool.<p>

Wheeljack getting hit by a stasis beam—NOT cool.

But hey, they had four of the next Iacon database entries decoded, so that certainly helped things a bunch. Hopefully slag was going to hit the fan soon. Wheeljack was looking forward to the missions, getting a bit stir crazy from these teeny jobs here and there the bots had done that were nothing like the missions the Wreckers had gone on.

"Hey, Wheeljack?"

"Yeah?"

"Since you're like my dad now, can I call you dad?"

Wheeljack looked down at her in surprise, actually surprised that the thought hadn't come to his mind in the first place. Actually, he was surprised she hadn't asked sooner. Maybe it had just slipped their minds?

"Sure thing, Babe," he said easily. "If I don't respond sometimes yet, don't blame me though, got it?"

"Yeah, I got it." She paused. _"Dad."_

Miko happily buried her face into Bulkhead's fur. The cat was purring a mile a minute as they sat on top of the silo, and Wheeljack's spark softened as he looked at Miko and the fluffy brown cat. Yeah, he was happy the stupid cat had made it. Even if that meant he had to share.

"So? Can you tell me about Cybertron?"

Wheeljack blinked, taken out of his trace. "Y—What?"

Miko lifted her head and stroked Bulkhead's fur. "Yeah. Can you tell me more about Cybertron when it was still the Golden Age?"

Wheeljack sighed, leaning back against the cavern wall. "Cybertron, eh? Hoo, don't know what to talk about there's so much to say."

Miko shrugged, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder and cuddling Bulkhead. "Just start somewhere. Were there as many Cybertronians as humans?"

"Oh sure," Wheeljack said easily, thinking of how busy the streets could become. "I hated the traffic. Bumper to bumper, and a lot of mechs and femmes figured walking was going to be faster than taking the streets. And the things people would shout! Disgraceful, I tell you! Miko, I promise, if you think humans and their rush hour traffic is bad, it's no match for Cybertronians. At least you guys can't hear each other cursing at each other!"

Miko grinned and giggled a little, backing her head up when Bulkhead's tail whacked her face. "Where was your favorite place to go? A strip joint?" She snorted. "Nah, you're too classy for that, this is before war. Was it a museum?"

Wheeljack grinned. "No, actually, it was a bar." Miko laughed loudly. "Yeah, good ol' Maccadam's Old Oil House. Sub-level six on Cybertron's lower-east quadrant." He leaned forward, pointing a finger at her. "See, Babe, thing was, Maccadam's was a place ANY bot could come. Pit, they didn't care if you were Autobot, Decepticon, or Neutralist, if you paid, you stayed. That," he shrugged, "and it was the biggest source of black market high grade there was during the war."

Miko snickered, nuzzling her nose to Bulkhead's. Wheeljack briefly wondered if the cat EVER stopped purring. "That so?" She cut her eyes to Wheeljack. "Did Autobots and Decepticons get along in there?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "For the most part, I suppose. We mostly tended to stay away from each other. There eventually became a designated 'Bot and 'Con side, but hey, it was subtle. People didn't talk about it much. No one pressured the Neutralists for anything, pick a side or anything. The 'Cons liked to pick fights sometimes, but nothing major."

Miko perked up. "They did?"

Wheeljack shrugged with a grin. "Yeah. I mean, you got a bunch of warriors drinking up the high grade? Miko, things were bound to get emotional, so you always did a scrap here and there. Rocky—the bouncer—always tossed them out, 'Con or 'Bot or Neutral. Tough guy he was. Pity he didn't want to be a Wrecker." As the thought of the old bar began to set in his circuits, Wheeljack felt his fingers twitch with the urge for a high grade. "We Wreckers went there a lot in between battles. It was a nice time to kick back and relax. We usually helped Rocky with any particularly rowdy guys."

"Like who?"

Wheeljack snapped his fingers. "Fang. Aft-hole he is. Babe, he was so big a jerk he'd make Vince look like a saint."

Miko frowned and pumped her fist up. "I could beat the snot out of Vince."

"No doubt you could," Wheeljack said. He shook his head. "Fang thought he was a big shot, bloody Decepticon that didn't know he was worth slag. He was beating on the harpsichord bot, and when he asked if anyone else wanted to take him on." Wheeljack snorted. "Needless to say, Twin Twist beat the slag out of him."

Miko laughed gaily and kicked out her legs straight and crossed them. "Serves him right."

Wheeljack stretched out his legs too and leaned back. The sun was going to dip soon. He'd have to get Miko out of the cold wind of early February so she wouldn't catch a cold. "Yeah. But, while you had the fools that wanted to start fights, for the most part, it was a great place. Get the fuel you wanted at a good price, kick back with friends you hadn't seen in years if you came on the right day, and femmes flinging themselves at any bot they wanted, sexy or not—depending on how slammed they were."

Miko suddenly grinned. "Yeah? What about you? Get some?"

Wheeljack waved a disinterested servo. "Nah. Could have, but didn't. I was a pretty hard-nosed fella way back when. I didn't interface lightly back then, and I still don't to this day. Keeps femme spats to a minimum—fights OR mouth oil."

Wheeljack snickered with Miko again before he sighed and lounged against the canyon wall. Miko lifted her head suddenly. "Wait, a harpsichord? You mean there were pianos on Cybertron?"

"Oh sure," Wheeljack said with a laugh. "You didn't think we were without music, did you?"

Miko made a face. "Well, with how you guys all reacted to my guitar like it was the Plague . . ."

Wheeljack snorted and shook his head. "That's cause it sounds like scrap to us. Besides, we don't have anything like guitars on Cybertron. We don't have strings."

"Seriously? Then what kinds of instruments did you have on Cybertron?"

Wheeljack sighed and leaned back, saying, "Our music . . . wasn't that much different from some of yours, actually. We had a more electronic sound, being a robotic race and all, so your electronica, dubstep, techno, even some alternative, we had it."

"Ick. All the things I hate."

Wheeljack laughed. "We had plenty of piano pieces too, those most of all. I suppose we had a sort of jazz, though I do believe it wasn't half as soulful as what you humans can do. You guys are maestros when it comes to music. And singing! Pit, I didn't know you could do that with your voices!"

Miko's eyes popped. "You guys can't SING?"

"Pit no," Wheeljack said with another wave of his servo. "Kidding me? We don't have vocal cords like you humans do. We can mimic pitches, play things back like recordings, but we don't have vocal cords. It's really a beautiful and fascinating thing to hear you guys sing. Music is never going to be the same for me."

"Huh." Miko puzzled down at Bulkhead, stroking the cat's ears in thought. Bulkhead purred up a storm when she scratched beneath his chin. "So how about dance? Do you guys dance?"

"Sure," Wheeljack said easily. He sat up, crossing his legs. "We're a bit . . . limited on what we can do with our armor on, so we mostly had things like ballroom, some swing dances, and I suppose the ever-popular rave party—" both Miko and Wheeljack snorted at the same time, "but otherwise, we suddenly realize that we're limited in that area. Human culture is . . . rich."

Miko grunted and pushed Bulkhead off her lap so she could lie on her back. The cat planted himself on her belly. "So? Do you guys live like us? Cook, eat, sleep, poop, whatever?"

Wheeljack laughed heartily. "Much less excrement. Waste tanks don't have to be emptied a fraction as much as you humans have to. After all, how often do you clean your car?"

Miko shrugged. "I don't know."

"It's like that, only less. We're just getting rid of dust, oil, and rust, depending on how old you are."

"What's it like if you get rusty?"

"Wouldn't know. I'm not old enough. Maybe you should ask Ratchet." Both of them snickered. "I've heard it's itchy. Like scabbing over."

"Ew!"

"Damn straight." Wheeljack cocked his helm in thought. "We don't refuel as often. Once a day is good if you're active in war usually, unless you're spilling it all over the place. Once a week if you're hardly active at all."

"Wow! Seriously?"

Wheeljack shrugged in turn and arched a brow. "How often do humans pump gas in their cars?" Miko rolled her eyes. "See? Not that different. But we don't sleep, we recharge."

"How's it different?"

Wheeljack frowned. "It's . . ." He shuffled positions. "Kinda hard to explain."

"Do you not get dreams?"

"Oh, sure we get dreams," Wheeljack said, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to explain it.

"How?"

He paused and licked his lips, wracking his not-as-often-used scientific brain for details. "I guess . . . for the same reason you guys do. Cybertronian scientists theorize that we have a psychosomatic phenomenon comprised of electrical signals in response to stimuli that could cause it, but research had just been launched by the beginning of the war, so it didn't go anywhere . . ."

"Wheeljack? All of that went over my head."

He waved a hand. "Ah, it's . . . Electrical pulses. That's how we think, too."

"So if I tased you, would you think differently?"

Wheeljack gave a belly laugh at that. "Pit no! Babe, our processors are reinforced with surge protectors so if I got electrocuted, it wouldn't affect my processor. Sure, I'd get disoriented, but I'm still exactly who I am." Wheeljack scowled suddenly. "Shockwave dipped into that. They can reformat a mech's processor now, wipe his memories and use those electrical pulses against us. Really a shame . . ."

Sensing a darker path running through the conversation, Miko tapped her toes thoughtfully, saying, "So, you've told me about J'nwan, Crystal City, and Darkmount. Any other interesting cities I should know about?"

Wheeljack gave a perturbed hum and tapped one of his fingers. "You mean to tell me Optimus hasn't told you guys about Iacon?"

"Not much."

Wheeljack smirked. Figures. He looked towards the dipping sun, saying, "Iacon is the name of the city-state as well as the capital city. First off, imagine yourself looking up at the foot of the Burj Khalifa."

"The what?"

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Tallest building in the world. 829.8 feet." Wondering how much the numbers actually helped her, he added, "163 floors."

"Holy shit."

"Language." Wheeljack shook his head. "Okay, got that image?"

"Yeah."

He barely heard her mutter something about it being really tall. He smirked. "Now make yourself as small as an ant."

Her eyes popped open. "It's huge."

"That's you looking up at the buildings of Iacon." Her jaw dropped. Wheeljack laughed heartily, shaking his head. "Miko, Iacon was—simply put, MASSIVE. It was pretty too, always glistening and shining and it practically blinded you when the sun reverberated across the smooth building tops. This place was the center of operations for the Autobots at the beginning of the war—and it was the last place to fall. Iacon was all polished streets with towering buildings and arches and marvels of engineering. Grand to look at, really.

"There's . . . too much in Iacon to really list it all. Maccadam's was there. The Imperial Amphitheater, the Celestial Temple, the High Council Pavillions, the Grand Oratory, the Chamber of the Ancients, Forum of Enlightenment, you wanted it, Iacon had it." Wheeljack shook his helm with a cluck of his glossia. "This is where your boring museums were, Miko. The only thing like that I had ever been in was the Stellar Galleries, full of pretty pictures and paintings from the artists."

Miko wrinkled her nose, petting the sleeping Bulkhead. "Yeah? Bet you guys had better art than we do. Better colors, right?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "Yeah. You guys are getting there, though. Give yourself some years to figure it out and let your eyes get used to it." Wheeljack hummed thoughtfully to himself. "Iacon was where the Central Spaceport was too. Busy as hell all the time, people shipping stuff from here to yonder and the workers seemed to never ever rest. And the place was busy. Busier than Crystal City, that was for sure. Crystal City only got busy if you had people visiting like tourists, or couples that wanted to be romantic in the Refracting Gardens. Iacon was like squeezing ten Bulkhead's into one pixie stick wrapper."

Miko snorted a little with laughter at the analogy, but shook her head with a grin. "I bet I'd love it! Busier than Tokyo?"

"Busier than Tokyo."

Her smile crinkled her nose. "Yes! I'd love it! Theaters everywhere, stores on every corner, the biggest buildings—oh yeah! I'd have to have you take me around so I wouldn't get stepped on."

Wheeljack chuckled warmly. "Ol' Maccadam's will always be my favorite."

"Bet you want a high grade, don't you?"

"It wouldn't hurt anything but maybe the drive home."

"Mrs. Davis would kill you."

"Nah, she's still just a fleshy."

"I pity you when she brings out the blow torch."

"You guys have a blow torch?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Miko shrugged nonchalantly to which Wheeljack could only chuckle softly and sigh as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. "Guess I ought to get you home."

"You should train with Optimus."

Wheeljack looked up, and Miko was suddenly grinning with a tired yawn. "Yeah. Clearly since Dreadwing keeps kicking your tailpipe, you need some more practice, and Optimus can go toe-to-toe with Megatron. And besides, Optimus is big and tall like Dreadwing. It should work." She shrugged nonchalantly, but suggestively. "Besides, you could finally have an excuse to hit him . . . and it'd be cool to watch you guys duke it out."

Wheeljack smirked with a grin as he transformed down around her on the elevator. "Yeah. Good thinking, Babe. I'll kick his can good for you."


	30. No Living With Him

**Author's Note:**

**SURPRISE! :D**

* * *

><p>"I thought you said YOU were going to kick HIS can?"<p>

Wheeljack scowled, nursing a particularly sore spot and another split lip. He arched his brows and glared at Miko a moment before Optimus chuckled.

"It was a good spar, Wheeljack."

He sucked the welling energon from his lip before spitting it out on the floor. "Says the one who didn't nearly get his articulators knocked out."

Optimus just shook his head with a smile, and that was when Wheeljack noticed that the Prime really had enjoyed sparring with him. When was the last time the Prime had had someone around his level of skill to spar with? Still, the smile faded a little as he turned his helm to the front. "Hm . . . There seems to be a commotion in the front. Ratchet is requesting me."

Miko jumped up and pointed at the Prime. "Race you to the front!"

With a yip, she had already darted out of the room and raced down the hall. One of Optimus's brows quirked up, and then, his lips quirked up in a barely concealed smirk. The Prime bolted from the room after her.

Wheeljack shook his head, quite amazed that the Prime was playing around, but he had a combination of pity and pride for Miko—pride, for getting the Prime to loosen up; pity because she was going to get her little aft kicked.

"That wasn't too pretty."

Wheeljack groaned, standing to his feet and turning to Arcee. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat at him, and Wheeljack shook his head. "You've come here to mock me for having the cogs to take on Optimus?"

She shook her head. "No. Actually, I'm pretty impressed you DID have the cogs to challenge Optimus. None of us can take him on."

Wheeljack just shook his head again when she came up to him, saying, "Ah . . . He kicked my tailpipe good. I didn't have a chance."

Arcee's luminous optics dipped lower than his optic level as she sauntered up—oh . . . FRAG . . . Next thing Wheeljack knew, she was right in front of his face with the husky murmur of, "What a nasty split lip you've got there. Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?"

Before Wheeljack could overcome how stunned he was by her strong come on, she had leaned on her toes and stuck her glossia out, dragging the tip over the cut, delectably licking up the energon. The prickles of pain were overwhelmed by the prickles of pleasure, and Wheeljack's mouth parted, heat steaming its way through his systems. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, suckling and laving her glossia over the small wound, and Wheeljack's in cycles changed, deepening with arousal. His servos clenched.

Arcee parted the steamy kiss with lidded optics. She leaned up to his audio receptor and whispered suggestively, "Race you to the front."

In the blink of an optic, she was gone. Wheeljack blinked, confused at the come on and then her—wait, she—

"Arcee!" Wheeljack shouted. He darted after her, racing her down the halls as she laughed at him from ahead. His optics narrowed on her whale tail as she whirled around the corner, and he heightened his speed, barreling down the halls. He caught up with her, skidding a bit more, but as they turned into the main room of the silo, Wheeljack lunged out and tackled Arcee full on. The femme yelped when he crashed into her, taking her down to the floor. Bumblebee jumped and squealed, backing out of the way.

Arcee tried to scramble away, but Wheeljack grabbed both her wrists to keep her captive. "You are a very cruel femme," he growled at her.

When he started to drag her closer, possibly to throw her over his shoulder and drag her kicking and screaming to the Jackhammer for a hot interface, Arcee stuck her leg up and planted her ped on his chassis, pushing away as much as he pulled.

"Just call it payback for all those awful pet names you keep using on me."

"Ooh, this is revenge? Can't wait to see what else you have in store—"

"Hush up, you two!"

Wheeljack looked up with a sharp word for Ratchet, but it died on his lips when he saw an Autobot identification ship's communication line pitched in to the base.

Optimus stepped forward, stating, "Unknown vessel, this is Autobot outpost Omega 1. Identify yourself."

Wheeljack and Arcee looked at each other before grins split their faces. Wheeljack waggled his brows as he stood up and extended a servo to help her up. "Wonder who that could be? One of your girlfriends?"

He grinned rakishly with a wink, but before anything more could be said, a fizz of static and the response of, "Pit, we could have had warmer welcomes from the Decepticons, Brother. Maybe we're on the wrong side!"

Wheeljack dropped Arcee like a rock, and she yelled at him as he bolted to the computer, pushing aside Ratchet heedlessly. "Twin Twist?" he exploded. "No fragging way! What are you doing all the way out here!"

"Wheeljack?" a chorus of voices said back.

Wheeljack laughed heartily, hollering, "You mother fraggers! Topspin! Primus knows how glad I am to hear you two 'Con crushers again! What are ya doing here?"

"Us?" Topspin laughed. "What about you? We've been jumping star systems to figure out where all the fighting is!"

"But if you're there," Twin Twist added, "we must have come to the right party!"

Wheeljack laughed, grinning from audio receptor to audio receptor. "How soon can you lugnuts get here?"

"You're on that little blip there? The organic one?" Twin Twist said. "Aw, Pit, we can be there by tomorrow!"

"What are you doing on that tiny rock?" Topspin asked curiously. "Organics don't suit you, Jackie."

Wheeljack grinned, looking over at Miko. She snorted she was trying so hard to control her laughter. "Pit, you guys wouldn't believe me if I told you!"

Optimus arched a brow, asking, "Wheeljack, you can verify their voice prints?"

"These guys are like my brothers, Prime," Wheeljack said with a rakish grin, excitement burning through his system like adrenaline. "Trust me when I say they're exactly who they are!"

Optimus nodded. "Twin Twist, Topspin, we will send landing coordinates. Safe travels."

"See you soon, guys! I've got a ton more stories up my sleeve and a surprise Wrecking femme to top it off!"

Warm laughter spilled over the line. "Trust me, any femme you like, she's gold!" Topspin laughed.

"Can't wait to see her!" Twin Twist said energetically.

Wheeljack grinned at Miko again, and she collapsed into giggles this time as Wheeljack proclaimed, "She's nothing like you've ever seen before!"

There was a beat in which Ratchet finally terminated the link, the chance for Ratchet to mutter almost incoherently with frustration, "I can't believe this is happening . . ." and then, Wheeljack gave a hoot and scooped up Arcee with a kiss on the lips.

"Buttercup, Twin Twist and Topspin are coming in!"

Before she could get the amused, "I see," out of her mouth, Wheeljack had whirled back to Miko and grinned down at her. He put up his fist for a fist pump to which she eagerly gave it. "Babe, you're gonna love them. I tell ya, once they get over how tiny you are, we're gonna have a blast!"

Miko crowed in excitement. "Yeah! Two more Bots to kick 'Con tailpipe? That's just how we roll!"

"Hell yeah!" Wheeljack laughed enthusiastically. He shook his head in bewilderment, excitement thrumming through his circuits. "Tomorrow—Primus, ha, I don't know if I can wait!" He flashed a rakish grin at Miko. "C'mon—let's blow this joint! We oughta tell Mrs. Davis the good news!"

Before Miko could answer, Wheeljack picked her up with a squeal and transformed down around her, plopped her in the passenger seat, buckled her up, and took with a screeching squeal of tires. They rocketed out of the base, whooping and yipping and yelling at the top of their lungs.

Topspin and Twin Twist—by Primus he missed his Wrecking team!

He gunned it home. Sure, he broke several laws, ran a red light here, always over the speed limit there, but he was sure Fowler would forgive him—hopefully. He didn't honestly care at this point as he whipped it into Miko's driveway with a squeal of tires, both him and Miko laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

He honked several times, loud and clear, and Mrs. Davis poked her head out. Wheeljack rolled down his window, hologram gesturing a muscled arm.

"Mrs. Davis! Get out here! Good news and a joyride!"

She smiled, shaking her head and calling, "All right, hold on! Let me get my shoes and lock up!"

Wheeljack and Miko yipped again as they waited, too excited to really sit still. Wheeljack revved his engines a couple times as Mrs. Davis hurried to lock the door. The hologram disappeared, and he let Mrs. Davis sit in the driver's seat. She had just buckled up when he whipped back out of the driveway, catcalls and whistles all around.

Mrs. Davis laughed, but said, "Easy, Wheeljack! Slow down! What's the big deal?"

"Big deal?" he burst. He jerked around a stop sign shamelessly without pause and gunned it down the street. "Topspin and Twin Twist are coming to Earth!" Before Mrs. Davis could again remind him of street laws or ask who they were, Wheeljack hollered, "My Wrecking mates! Mrs. Davis, two of my Wrecking mates are coming to Earth! Pit, I haven't seen them in centuries!"

Miko squealed when they narrowly slammed on the brakes in time for a red light. Mrs. Davis, on the other hand, gasped when the seatbelt locked around her tight and pressed a hand to her chest. "Yes, Wheeljack, it's good news, but please—Slow down! You're going to give me a heart attack!"

Wheeljack laughed heartily, pulling out of the green light with more care as he chuckled, "Easy, Mrs. Davis! You keep that heart pumping right and I'll straighten out. But Primus, slag it all to Pit, TWIN TWIST and TOPSPIN!" He felt his suspension hinge up in excitement. "Mrs. Davis they're gonna be here tomorrow!"

"Isn't it exciting?" Miko squeaked, all but wiggling in Wheeljack's passenger seat. "Twin Twist, Unicron's Baby, is the mean one that likes tearing up 'Cons and Topspin, Rusty Aft, is the nature freak, right?"

Wheeljack laughed again, picking up speed for the interstate. "More than that, but you gotta remember—ALL Wreckers enjoy ripping up some 'Con aft!" Miko and Wheeljack laughed, and their excitement was so intoxicating that even Mrs. Davis had to smile. The Lancia practically trembled the energy ran through his circuits so high.

"But seriously, Babe, Twin Twist can drill into the deepest and darkest places you can ever imagine, and Topspin—aw, hell, Ratchet's gonna HATE him!" Wheeljack's words were interrupted by another bout of laughter. "Oh Primus, Babe, if you got your arm blown off, Topspin was the kind of medic that would rip off a Decepticon's arm and attach it to you just to stop you from bleeding out!"

Miko giggled, tears sparking in her eyes she was so giddy. "Aw, hell, I can't wait to meet them!"

"Watch the language, and trust me, things in that boring ol' silo are sure gonna heat up with Twist and Spin around!" Miko and Wheeljack whooped, and coming to the long stretch of road that led to the base, Wheeljack revved his engine playfully. "Strap in and hold on tight, ladies, we're about to fly!"

Of course, telling them to strap in was redundant because they were both buckled in, but Wheeljack laid into the gas like no tomorrow, and the Lancia darted ahead on the long road. Mrs. Davis and Miko sank back into the seats, Miko giggling a mile a minute while Mrs. Davis seemed to just be trying to keep herself breathing as her fingers dug tightly into Wheeljack's leather seats. With a hoot, his speed dial inched far above the 100 mark and further.

"Wheeljack—! If you don't slow down—!"

"Faster! Faster!"

Miko's thrilled shrieks were stark in comparison to Mrs. Davis's panicky but threatening voice. With a warm laugh, Wheeljack let himself drift slower for Mrs. Davis's sake, chortling, "Aw, c'mon, Mrs. Davis! You're sucking the fun out of this!"

"And I'll suck more than just the fun, you shouldn't be speeding like this! Slow down and drive straight, I can still revoke my letting you drive Miko around."

A groan expelled from both Miko and Wheeljack, but he slowed down and drove right.

* * *

><p>Jack, Raf, Miko, and Mrs. Davis were all lined up on the top of the gangway, Miko restlessly petting the fluffy brown Bulkhead as they awaited Topspin and Twin Twist's landing. Bumblebee was twitchily rocking from foot to foot. Arcee had an edge of restiveness too, but much more subdued; periodically, she would pace to the other side of the room. Optimus stood patiently near Ratchet. Ratchet grumbled under his breath periodically and shuffled his peds in agitation.<p>

Wheeljack, on the other hand, lounged nonchalantly against the wall, his outward calmness belying how excited he was. On the inside, he was so edgy he wanted to hoot as loud as he could, pick a bro fight with Bumblebee, throw another thousand fire crackers beneath Ratchet's feet. Instead, they were all forced to wait—in tense silence because no one wanted to break the quiet for some reason—and finally, landing.

Wheeljack jerked a thumb at Arcee and Bumblebee. "Let's go."

Bumblebee jumped forward eagerly as the bridge opened up, and Wheeljack led them both out to a deserted desert. As he did, he spotted two blue and white mechs coming forward from a ship of a different design than the Jackhammer, red Autobot symbols emblazoned on their chassis.

Blue optics and a blue visor ginned at each other. A second later, Wheeljack was glomped eagerly on both sides in vigorous hugs.

Arms pinned, he wasn't able to hug back, could only grin at the two Jumpstarters as he pleaded just like he had to Bulkhead, "Easy! Watch the finish, fellas!"

"Watch the—" Both Topspin and Twin Twist let go at the same time, mischievous deeds twinkling in their optics and visor. Twin Twist narrowed his optics as his friend. "We oughta strip the paint from you if all you can say to us is to watch the finish."

"Watch it, Blinky," Topspin added with a threatening grin, optics covered by his visor, "We can do worse than that, and you know it!"

"Blinky?"

Arcee's amused voice brought both Wrecker's attention to her and Bumblebee—more so, Arcee. Twin Twist's optics widened while Topspin's visor brightened.

"Wheeljack, again—EXCELLENT taste."

"I'd tap that."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics and moved to put a territorial arm around Arcee. "Let's get one thing straight—this isn't my Wrecking girl, and Wookum's mine."

Arcee growled shortly in irritation. "And if you keep calling me something other than my given name, I'm going to have Ratchet remove your articulators."

Twin Twist and Topspin both grinned before Twin Twist said, "Oh yeah. Wookum's a keeper."

Arcee pushed Wheeljack's arm off of her and stepped forward and narrowed her optics at Twin Twist. "Oh no. You will NOT be calling me that. My name is Arcee."

Topspin shrugged. "Sure thing, Wookum."

When Arcee growled again in frustration, looking like she was about to attack one of the newcomers she was getting so worked up, Bumblebee jumped forward and put himself in between them. *Hi!* he said a little too brightly. *My name's Bumblebee. It's sure good to have you guys along!*

"No problem, kid," Twin Twist said easily, giving the mech a kind of slang handshake that Topspin repeated. Bumblebee twittered, easily enthralled with the more seasoned warriors.

Wheeljack grinned and accessed his comm. "Hey, Doc? We're ready for that bridge."

A sharp, "My name is not Doc!" and the resounding blast of the ground bridge.

Topspin already was wincing. "Oh scrap. You mean THE Doc?"

"Ratchet-the-Hatchet?" Twin Twist echoed with a grimace.

Wheeljack laughed. "Sure thing. And I've already gotten so far on his bad side it's a wonder I'm still functional."

That sent all of the Wreckers into bellowing laughter as they tromped through the ground bridge. As the bridge shut behind them, Wheeljack spied Miko who was biting her lip nervously, and he grinned and waved the twins forward. "All right you guys," and he cast a servo to Miko, "THIS is my Wrecking Babe!"

Both reeled back in shock, but it was Topspin that found his glossia first. "No slag, eh?" He came up, looking down at her with his brother. "Scrap, she's a lot smaller than I expected. You helping Wheeljack get into trouble with the Doc?"

An audible seethe from Ratchet. Miko smiled nervously. "W-Well . . . Actually, yeah. Saw my first blown gasket."

That made both Wreckers grin so wide that the corners of their mouths started to disappear beneath their helms. "Pit, anyone who slags off the Doc is good in my book!" Topspin said.

"Pit yeah," Twin Twist echoed. "Honorary Wrecker _indeed!_"

Simultaneously, both Wreckers lifted their fists for her. With a hop and both arms, Miko grinned and returned that fist bump.

"And this," Wheeljack said, chasing Mrs. Davis forward when she tried to fade into the background, "is Mrs. Davis."

Both Wreckers fixed their attention on her to which she ducked her head a little and gave a little wave in welcome.

"She's mighty quiet."

"And scared."

Wheeljack waved a hand. "Just intimidated. She's not around us that often. That doesn't matter, though, tell her a little something about yourself, and she'll hit you right in your core. She's got my respect."

Twin Twist laughed, and he turned his rakish grin down on the little human. "That so? You really think it?" He leaned down casually, making her shift positions slightly. "Okay. I'll tell you a little something about myself. I worked as a miner before the war, and one of my little quirks is that I've got to have contact with people. Can you tell me why?"

There was a quiet moment in the silo at the bland challenge, Twin Twist getting smugger and smugger that he had stumped her, and just when they thought Mrs. Davis wasn't going to respond, she took a deep breath and said, "Well, I think you need touch because of the fact that you were a miner. Basing my assumptions off the drills on your shoulders, you dug deep and into dark places, and probably perfectly suited for long periods of time in the dark, small and deep underground. If that was so, you wouldn't have much need for anything like personal space since you would have had to spend most of your time with dozens of others, most likely in those deep and dark confined tunnels. Moving around in the dark like that—you most likely grew up very tactile because of it and would rather be around a group. Wide open spaces make you uncomfortable, and isolation is your fear. You also more than likely sleep close to another just to fall into a proper, well, recharge, or whatever it is you do to rest. Touch calms you, eases you when you're hurt, and gives you a sense of connection that can't be put into words."

As she had been speaking, Twin Twist's optics had been getting larger and larger, and by the time she had finished, she was blushing slightly at his hanging jaw. He snapped his mouth shut before exploding in shock, "Primus slag you to Pit! How in Pit did you—"

Wheeljack just laughed, punching his shoulder. "Hey, I gave you fair warning."

Twin Twist sputtered a moment before poking a finger into Topspin's chest, "Let this be a warning to you that this femme—" and he pointed warily down at Mrs. Davis, eyeing her uncertainly, "is no joke. Pit, if she knew enough, she could probably turn us inside out!" The thought made him laugh, and he shook his head, impressed with her.

Wheeljack shook his head with a grin, saying, "No lie. But if you've got a problem, take it to her and she'll beat you upside the head, straighten you out, and get you feeling better in a nanoclick."

A heavy step brought Wheeljack's mind away from pleasantries—oops, forgot about Optimus. The Prime came forward, gathering Topspin and Twin Twist's attention by the way he filled the room, and both mech's straightened at the sight of him.

Optimus nodded easily, saying, "Topspin, Twin Twist, it is good to welcome you into our fold. We are few, but strong, and your addition to this team will be of great help to our cause."

"No problem—"

"Sure thing."

He nodded again, saying, "I'm sure Miko would love to bring you on a tour of the base, or if you would like, to first move your ship to a more secure location?"

Both Wrecker's glanced to Miko, and they shrugged at the same time, intoning, "Nah." And Topspin continued, "The Mattock ain't going nowhere." He turned his wide grin on Miko. "So? Let's see this base!"

Miko grinned with a whoop and moved Bulkhead aside with her toe as she went scampering down the stairs. "All right! First thing's first: watch where you step! We don't want unfortunate human goop stuck to the bottom of your feet or a certain favorite cat!" Both Twin Twist and Topspin pulled faces at the thought of squished organic beneath their feet. "Second! Always rock out! And third!" Miko darted into the hallway, giving a mock bow and gesturing down the hall with a grin, "Stay out of Wheeljack's lab unless you enjoy the explosions!"

At that, both Twin Twist and Topspin hooted and banged their forearms against each other. "You're still blowing slag up! Got anything interesting that you're working on?"

Wheeljack laughed, shaking his head. "Let's just say that last weapon was a horrible thing to try . . . but I'm thinking about trying to make a cloning machine! True, I couldn't replicate an actual spark, but the mechanics are quite simple, actually . . ." And as Wheeljack launched into a complicated detail of what he was thinking, Topspin and Twin Twist shared a knowing glance behind the Wrecker's back.

"Same ol', same ol'."

Still, as Wheeljack turned down the hall, the twin Jumpstarters gestured Miko back. She frowned, but backed up obediently against the wall as Twin Twist came into the hall.

"Hey, Wheeljack."

"Yeah?"

The second Wheeljack turned around, Twin Twist launched himself at him with the most unruly holler he could, tackling him to the ground. They crashed to the ground in a mess of limbs and growls, and Topspin yipped with giddy, childish delight before jumping on top of them and joining the fray.

Miko easily jumped in as the cheerleader on the side. Bangs and crashes and swears and laughter all the way down the hall and to the practice rooms.

Ratchet groaned and dropped his helm into the palm of one of his hands.

"There'll be no living with him now."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**SURPRISE! :D Makes a lot more sense in the context of the two surprises I sprung on you guys in this chapter. :D**

**Honestly, originally it was going to be Springer, but I was afraid of butchering his personality since I don't know his character that well. And, throwing some more Wreckers in was totally on a whim, I just kinda felt like it one day, like, "Hm. This is getting boring. Let's get interesting." And the twins were born (well, not born, but, you know... the IDEA was born!) And I brought in Mrs. Davis again because it's been quite a while since we've seen our favorite therapist, yes? *cough should-have-made-her-a-shrink cough***

**Oh well. Twin Twist and Topspin! Remove the * thingys! :**

**htt*p*:*/*/*b*rowse*.*deviant*art*.*com*/?q=topspin+twin+twist#/d41lrpr**


	31. Change

**Author's Note**:

**Just wanted to say again that I'm thankful for all my wonderful watchers and reviews are love! (and inspiration)**

* * *

><p>"So . . . things have certainly changed, huh?"<p>

Wheeljack lounged in the driver's seat of the Jackhammer that night, turned towards Topspin and Twin Twist. Twin Twist sat in the passenger seat after the brothers had tussled to see who could pin each other first to see who was the winner of the seat. Needless to say, Topspin hadn't been happy at all.

Topspin gave a vague gesture with his hand and elaborated off of his brother. "Yeah, I mean, this thing you've got with Miko and Arcee . . . Pit, you've never spared a femme a glance in all my years I've known you, and it all seems to have gone flying out the window with Arcee. You're tangled up—and when I say tangled up, I mean tangled up DEEP."

Wheeljack scowled mildly at them, tapping lightly on the edge of the consol. "Right. You keep believing that. We just recognized that we've both got something and we're gonna explore it and see where it takes us. Nothing more—but maybe a good frag every now and then."

He leaned back when both twins fixed their optics on him, arching twin brows of disbelief. Wheeljack snorted. "Believe what you want to believe."

"Uh-huh," Topspin intoned. "I'll be sure to keep thinking that this is more than just protoform deep with you two."

"We're not stupid," Twin Twist scoffed just to add insult to injury. He leaned forward with a smug look brimming on his faceplates. "A blind man could see it written all over your faceplates."

Wheeljack just shook his head, refusing to rise to the bait they presented him. When they failed to get a rise, Twin Twist grunted and waved a servo. "Whatever. C'mon now, let's have it—what happened that you got tangled up with Arcee?"

Wheeljack smirked down at his tapping trigger finger. "Don't know if you guys would believe it."

Topspin grinned. "Ooh, a fantastic story ahead?"

"No. In fact, it's a rather boring one, if you really want to hear it. Miko and I are much more interesting."

Topspin smirked and leaned back, cocking a hip as he rested against the wall of the Jackhammer. "Sure, we'll hear some of her next. C'mon. Fess up on Arcee."

Wheeljack waved him off before resting both forearms on the dash. "Ah . . . It's really not that interesting. She intrigued me—she's tough as nails and has a sharp tongue to boot. She doesn't put up with my slag, so that was enough to get my attention. But it was really the fact that she's got a helluva lot in common with me. That, and there's an undeniable amount of chemistry."

Twin Twist chuckled. "Sexual tension for miles."

Topspin shook his head. "That's it? BORING."

"Told ya it was boring."

"Yeah?" Topspin needled. He grinned, shaking his head. "C'mon. Puh-LEASE. I know there's more going on there than THAT. You interfaced with her yet?"

Wheeljack leaned back, only mildly affronted. "What's it to you?"

Twin Twist laughed, grinning. "You kidding me, Blinky? If you haven't got none now, you ain't getting any."

Wheeljack snorted, crossing his arms. "If you must know, I HAVE gotten some."

Topspin leaned forward. "And exactly how much is SOME?"

Wheeljack shoved his face away. "More than you ever got."

Twin Twist hooted, high-fiving Wheeljack with a rakish smile at the jibe. Wheeljack sat back smugly as Topspin hollered angrily before he schooled his expression.

"Look," he said stubbornly, "I'm just trying to get a little bit of the juicy details here. You've gotta give us SOMETHING."

"Just a little something," Twin Twist wheeled as well. He sent a pair of mock-begging puppy dog eyes. "She wild in the sack?"

Wheeljack pressed his lips mulishly. "I don't believe I'm at liberties to give away all the juicy little details."

"Aw, c'mon, Blinky!"

"Yeah, Rusty Aft?" He snorted, shaking his head. "Unlike you, I plan to KEEP my head attached to my body."

Twin Twist snorted and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees as he considered Wheeljack studiously. Wheeljack met his gaze. "So, she's got some slag on her like you do. Since you're obviously not gonna enlighten us, let me take a stab—was she tortured?"

"Yeah."

Twin Twist nodded. "How about some revenge?"

"Yeah."

Twin Twist grunted and leaned back. "Yeah. Just like I thought. You guys read like open books."

"That being said," Topspin cut in. He arched a brow. "You and MIKO? The little fleshing femme?"

Wheeljack laughed, leaning back with a rakish grin. "You guys shoulda seen your faceplates. The moment you saw her, Pit could have turned over in ice."

Instinctively, both mechs were affronted, snorted, and crossed their arms simultaneously. Topspin was the first to drop the stance, leaning on Twin Twist's chair and peering at Wheeljack critically. "Yeah. But she's tiny—and squishy. She breaks easier than anything I've ever seen, can be more annoying than Bluestreak, and you put up with that? What in Primus' name for?"

Wheeljack paused then, pressing his mouth plates together as he considered the question. He could draw it up easily in three words—_I love her._ But that wouldn't surmise it well for them. In fact, it would probably hit them like a slap in the face. Wheeljack didn't admit to loving anyone, even his Wrecking mates, and the words never came out directly or frivolously. They were spare words that he kept tight under lock and key, and he would bet his entire stash of high grade that the twins wouldn't be able to remember the last time he had used it around his Wrecking team.

Bulkhead. Wheeljack leaned his elbows on his knees, pinching his brow. How to explain it all? And Seaspray. A rumbling vent pushed through his systems, and both Topspin and Twin Twist picked up on it.

"That bad?"

Wheeljack frowned, rubbing the back of his neck and sighing heavily. "Bad . . . and good. It's complicated."

"And you don't know where to start."

Wheeljack paused. He straightened. "Actually, I think I do." He cut them both glances. "Can you promise to keep your mouths shut for a bit?"

Twin Twist looked affronted. "Hah! Like you need to worry about me—it's that half-bit over there you need to worry about," and he jabbed a thumb at his brother.

From his vantage point above him, Topspin whacked his brother's helm. "Yeah right! I can be perfectly quiet." He looked over at Wheeljack. "We both can."

Wheeljack nodded, leaning over the dash and dialing before he had even said, "Well good. Now shut up until I give you the say, got it?"

"Got it," Topspin said, and his brother reached around and smacked him back. Topspin shoved him irritably, and Wheeljack waved them up as Miko picked up the phone.

A groggy, "Hello?" met their audio receptors.

Wheeljack chuckled softly at her husky voice. "Hey there, Babe. You sound almost as bad as being sick."

There was a heavy pause over the line. "Jackie? It's one in the morning. 1:37 to be exact. What the frag do you want?"

His brows puckered. "You in that bad a mood right now?"

"Well, considering it's the middle of the night and I have school in the morning, y—" She stopped. A yawn covered the line. "Okay, maybe not that bad. What's up?"

Wheeljack hesitated, feeling the presence of his Wrecking buddies with him. "Just feeling a little reminiscent," he finally said.

A soft laugh. "Yeah? Never thought I'd hear you say something sentimental like that."

"Neither did I." The edge of his lips quirked up at another laugh, this time clearer as she gained to fuller consciousness. "Actually, Miko . . . I'm kinda missing a certain Wrecking ball. Call me soft, but with Topspin and Twin Twist being here . . . Man. Bulkhead would have loved to see them."

Both Wreckers started. Wheeljack wasn't looking, but he could FEEL it, the optics pinned to him, hungry for knowledge of what had happened. And while his conversation with Miko was a charade for the mechs, it was a very true one. After all, he didn't have to pretend, and that was what made it all the more real for them.

Miko was quiet across the line for once, and finally, she murmured, "Yeah . . . I know what you mean."

When the silence sat heavy in between them, Wheeljack suggested, "Hey, Miko? Can you sing our song for me?"

"Now?"

"Unless you don't want to."

"No! No, I mean, it's fine . . . Hold on, let me get my guitar plugged up." There was a shuffle over the line, and Wheeljack could picture Miko moving about her room with the cell tucked between her cheek and her shoulder because he heard her laugh under her breath, "Mrs. Davis is going to be so pissed if I wake her up . . ."

"Ah, you'll be fine."

Miko snorted, and there was a short stretch of silence. After a minute, Wheeljack heard the melancholy guitar plucking pick up, and he felt his throat tighten even at the beginning of the song. He crossed his arms and leaned back, keeping his optics pinned on the consol as the music wafted into the Jackhammer, but he didn't let on any more than that to Topspin and Twin Twist as Miko began to sing.

_ "I wanted you to know, that I love the way you laugh. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain, away . . ."_

It was a little different, this time around. For the most part, Miko kept her composure as she sang, and the strums of her guitar were steadier, her voice steadier.

_"Cause I'm broken, when I'm lonesome, and I don't feel right, when you're gone away . . ."_

Though Wheeljack kept his outer composure, on the inside he was a blubbering mess again. Primus slag it all . . . All this was the catalyst of Bulkhead's death. It hurt, all the time, to know that, and it hurt that this was an ache that would never go away. It lessened, at times like these—no. Perhaps, at times like these it knifed even harder, but it was the tranquil peace after the tears that made it better. To share that broken emotion with her, and she with him, gain strength from each other and keep moving on.

And, as Miko sang their song again, Wheeljack could only pensively think to himself that, if presented the choice, he would do anything to replace Bulkhead's death. He would rather himself die than Bulkhead. After all, Bulkhead was a good mech with the biggest spark of gold he had ever found. If a mech could look past all of Wheeljack's imperfections, that was a mech he could love like a brother, and Bulkhead had been that. Wheeljack would lay down his life for a mech like that.

But more to it . . . It would have been for Miko. Wheeljack's spark seized painfully at the thought. It would have been his ultimate sacrifice for her—to die in the place of Bulkhead. Bulkhead had been everything to her, the one person she could give her all to, her whole heart, and trust him to treat her right, treat her like a father. Wheeljack was a hundred percent certain that Bulkhead would have cracked open her little shell with just a little bit more time. And, honestly, Bulkhead would have done it better than Wheeljack. After all, Wheeljack and Miko went together well, but Bulkhead and Miko had gone together perfect. Wheeljack knew he was too stubborn for her, and they butted heads all the time. He was too crude with his language, he wasn't patient enough, and he didn't always want to devote his time to her at her every whim. Bulkhead had done those things Wheeljack wouldn't always, and while he still felt like a failure for not being that perfect mech for her, Wheeljack was finally realizing that it was a part of who he was—he couldn't change his shortcomings, though he could certainly try his hardest to patch them up.

Wheeljack knew all this now. He just wished he had known it before he let Bulkhead die. Though a bitter taste soured his mouth, Wheeljack knew even now the lengths he would go to just to have stopped Bulkhead's death. He would have paid his life as ransom to Dreadwing to let him set Bulkhead free. He would have let the Decepticon do whatever he wanted with him if Bulkhead would have survived to take care of Miko. Take care of her better than he ever could.

Miko's voice had thickened with tears again. She was on the last stretch of the final choruses, but her struggling voice was growing weaker and weaker by the second. _"Cause I'm broken . . . when I'm lonesome . . . and I don't . . . feel . . . right . . ."_

Compared to when she had ended so strongly the first time with her tears, this time it was weak, her voice giving out on her before she could finish the song. "Jackie?"

Wheeljack's hand shook a moment before he clenched his fist and pressed it down. He swallowed to steady his words, and unstuck his glossia from the top of his mouth. "Y-Yeah?"

His voice was thick again, and he stuttered slightly. It was enough to give Twin Twist and Topspin the leverage they needed to know that the song effected him just as deeply as it had Miko. There was a sniff over the line. "I miss Bulkhead . . ."

His throat tightened. He turned his face away. "I know. I'm trying to help ya."

"I know."

He felt his spark breaking again when he heard her crying. He suddenly sat up to the computers. "Miko? Need me to come over?"

She sniffed again, quavering voice saying, "N-No—"

"I can come over Miko," he said stubbornly. "Right now. You know I'll be there."

"No, I mean, it's all right." Miko took an audible breath from across the line, sniffing again and sighing. "Just pretty emotional. I'm fine, really."

"You don't sound too convincing."

That garnered a little laugh. "Well . . . You were the one that wanted me to sing that song."

A rueful smirk crossed Wheeljack's features, and he leaned back. "Touché."

There was another moment of companionable silence before Miko asked, "Do you think Topspin and Twin Twist liked me? Well, I mean, I know they were preoccupied with finally seeing you again, but . . ."

Wheeljack looked over, and simultaneously, both mechs gave bold thumbs ups with strong nods. "Yeah," Wheeljack said, looking back to the computer. "They love ya, I can promise you that a hundred percent."

A smile colored her voice. "Good." She yawned. "Do you think . . . we could take them dune bashing tomorrow after school?"

Wheeljack chuckled, shaking his head. "You got it, Babe. But you need to go ahead and hit the sack. I've kept you up too long."

"Sure." She yawned again though, betraying herself. "Love you, Dad."

That warm feeling spread all through his circuits again warming all the way down to the toes of his peds. "Love you too, Babe," he said back, and he could feel the twins jump again, not accustomed to him letting the words out of his mouth so easily. "Get some rest."

"You too."

Wheeljack hung up, and he looked over to Topspin and Twin Twist for their reactions. Twin Twist was the first to break the silence with a steadying intake, and he nodded.

"Yeah."

That was all he needed to say. Topspin echoed him, murmuring, "Wrecker."

Wheeljack nodded. "Yup."

Twin Twist rolled an uncomfortable shoulder. "And all the in between."

Topspin put out his fist to Wheeljack. "We'll protect her." Twin Twist extended his fist too.

Wheeljack bumped them both. "Good. Cause the trouble she seems to get herself into is unimaginable."

All three former Wreckers gave rueful smiles and shakes of their heads before Twin Twist spoke again. "She said Bulkhead . . ."

A heavy beat of silence cut the room. "He was here, wasn't he?" Topspin whispered. After a moment, Wheeljack nodded. He took a sharp intake. "He's dead, isn't he?"

After taking a steadying cycle to control his emotions, Wheeljack nodded.

Everything in the room seemed to deflate. Topspin gave a disbelieving laugh. "Things have certainly changed, haven't they?"

"Sure have."

Twin Twist shifted. "So that's why she called the furball Bulkhead."

"Hey, it was cute," Topspin defended.

"It was fat and ugly and demanded attention." Twin Twist paused. His tone darkened. "Who did it?"

Wheeljack's fists tightened and his wings perked. Tension ran over his frame until he thought something was going to snap. "Dreadwing." Wordless grunts from the two Wreckers. "He killed Seaspray too."

Twin Twist and Topspin jolted at that, and they both swore darkly. "How?" Topspin finally spat.

"Proximity bomb," Wheeljack muttered. He scowled, the anger brimming back up. "Supposed to take both of us out."

The twins revved their engines again, anger rolling from their shoulders. Topspin leaned over, servos gripping his brother's shoulders tightly, and Twin Twist glared blackly and emptily out the windshield of the Jackhammer.

"He's nearly killed me three times already."

"Clarify," Twin Twist spat.

"The proximity bomb," Wheeljack said. He paused. "He captured Miko once, and I shielded her from one of his bombs. Laid up for a week of repairs, three of which were spent in a coma." More angry rumblings. "Latest time was much closer. Miko and I went out for revenge, baited Dreadwing out. And, let's just say Miko walked off with just a couple broken ribs and a mild concussion while I ended up getting stabbed through the chassis. I was in a coma for a week, and . . . things happened of which I nearly drank myself back into that coma, it took weeks to heal, and I almost died again when I sank into such a bad depression that my spark fracture almost took me."

A hiss from Topspin. "So how's the ol' spark holding up now?"

"A lot better."

"Good."

Silence ruled for sometime after that, and Wheeljack couldn't blame them. After everything he had told them, he wouldn't have trusted himself to speak. He was absolutely certain there was some spark communication going on between them, but he didn't press it. If they kept it quiet, it was none of his matter.

He shook his head, leaning on the dash and letting his helm drop. Two Wreckers of their team dead, nearly three. Wheeljack rested his forehead against his clasped fists, feeling like things had spiraled out of control. Finally, he had to ask, "You guys know where the others are? If they're alive?"

Twin Twist shook his head. Topspin loosened his glossia. "We haven't heard from them since Iacon fell and Alpha Trion ordered us that it was over and to disband. Haven't heard from the others since we fled Cybertron. The only one . . . Ultra Magnus is gone."

Wheeljack winced. The commander. Ripped from him just like that. Even without his knowing of it. A part of himself died on the inside because he knew now that there wasn't going to be a reforming of the Wreckers. They were in tatters. Broken. Scattered among the stars. The only way they may have a chance was . . . Springer, but even that was debatable because they didn't even know where the mech was, much less if he was alive.

Finally, Wheeljack cycled a tense breath and gripped the consol tightly. "How?" he finally asked.

The twins looked away. "We were the last ones to get off the planet," Topspin muttered quietly.

"And someone had to hold them off so we could get away," Twin Twist murmured. There was a beat of silence. "We took off in the Mattock, and anti-aircraft fire was hot on our tails. Ultra Magnus was still down there, on the surface, taking them out so we could all get away."

When Twin Twist ran out of words, Topspin picked up. "We could see the lighting from his hammer flashing from all the way up in the sky. It was bold. Powerful. Possibly the strongest we had ever seen him fight . . . the most desperate. And then, all of the sudden, the lightning stopped. We couldn't see Ultra Magnus, but . . ."

There was a heavy pause. Finally, Twin Twist rasped, "The roar of the 'Cons could have been heard from the next galaxy over . . ."

Wheeljack's fists clenched, and he hunched over, wingtips perking stiff as he held back all the misery running rampant in his chassis. He never thought he would have heard of this day.

The Wreckers had been broken.

Finally, it was Topspin that whispered, "Do you . . . know what happened to the others? We . . . never saw anyone again."

"Well I can tell ya," Wheeljack muttered darkly. "With the exception that I've got no idea in Pit what happened to Springer and Whirl, we're all dead except for us." Twin Twist and Topspin both snarled, bodies clenching up as the agony of hearing about their closest brothers being torn to bits aching low in their sparks. Wheeljack closed his optics and pressed his helm against his fists. He knew the feeling, and it wasn't ever going to leave him.

Silence pressed on them for a long time. They sat, each wrapped up in their own ruminations, and it was finally Wheeljack that decided he had to say something.

"So yeah. Things have changed."

"A lot," Twin Twist finally cracked out.

"Miko called you Dad," Topspin finally worked out.

Wheeljack nodded. "Yeah. She's my girl now. Her father hates her because she's a girl." He held up his hand before they could respond. "It's a cultural thing for her race. She's been starved of a father figure, and after she lost Bulkhead . . . I stepped in. And I'm glad to step in. I'll do anything for her."

Topspin nodded. He leaned against the back of Twin Twist's chair, sighing tensely and pinching his brown. "Pit, things have changed."

Wheeljack shook his head. "Yeah, but don't get me wrong. This place is great. These bots and even the humans are the closest thing I've got to a family now. And, believe it or not, this rag-tag team is some helluva fighters. With the odds they're up against and they're limited resources?" He gave a rueful laugh. "They might as well be the new Wreckers."

The two brothers were quiet as they took this information in, and Twin Twist gave a bitter laugh. "So, what? You think there's a place for us here?"

Topspin scowled. "Like Ratchet would ever let me in anywhere. I flunked out of medical school cause of him."

Wheeljack vented a sigh and leaned back. His blue optics locked with theirs. "Listen to me. This team is . . . different. They came together because they were thrown together, but they make it work. Arcee's a fierce fighter, and while Ratchet's always a pain, he's always there for you. Just . . . less than nice about it. Bumblebee took down Skyquake."

Both mechs looked up, impressments shining in their optics. "Seriously?"

Wheeljack nodded with the touch of a smirk. "Yeah, I couldn't believe the runt had done it either . . ." He paused. He vented sharply and rubbed a hand over his face. "And Optimus Prime. He's a good Prime. I can't stand him cause he's so compassionate and reminds me too much of Ultra Magnus . . . But he's a mech worth following. I understand now why Bulkhead left."

Both Topspin and Twin Twist looked at him dubiously. "Yeah? Why's that?"

Instead of putting it into words, Wheeljack reclined back and crossed his arms behind his head and his ankles. "Guess you'll find out one day," was all he said.

The two bots with him snorted in mild irritation before things settled into sorrowful, companionable silence. "Guess we'll have to inform Optimus his right-hand man's gone," Twin Twist grumbled.

Wheeljack winced again. He had forgotten. "We oughta do that tomorrow. He'd want to know."

There was a quiet beat of silence. Finally, Topspin stretched. "Well, it's late, and I've got a serious case of—what do the humans call it? Jet lag."

Twin Twist suddenly leaned over to tug on Wheeljack's arm. "Hey, think we can crash here like we used to on the Xantium floor?"

Before Wheeljack could respond to that, Twin Twist had yanked him to the floor and sprawled out over the top of his stomach.

Wheeljack didn't protest. It was a usual thing of Twin Twist. He could remember the times they had lost members before and the twins would take it the worst—Topspin, because he was the medic, Twin Twist because he was linked to his brother and was very sensitive to those he lost. After all, working in the mines had hardened him and softened him both. He clung to his companions because he relied on them for survival.

And, this need of touch was normal. Wheeljack didn't say anything but instead laced both hands behind his helm to rest and let Twin Twist use his stomach as a pillow. Topspin flopped down too, using Twin Twist's back as a pillow and laying over Wheeljack's legs.

"Hey, Blinky? You still blink?"

"Yeah."

"Good. At least that hasn't changed."

Wheeljack's spark stirred as they camped out on the floor. Indeed, many things had changed, but these mechs were always a constant.

"Hey, Twist?" he said suddenly.

The Jumpstarter didn't even look up. Instead, he snuggled closer. "Yeah?"

"This just proves why you're Unicron's BABY and not his executioner."

"Frag off."


	32. Fwoofy

**Author's Note:**

**Happy late Valentine's Day! ^^ It's extra long since I was late.**

**Oh! And there's some "bad touching" ahead, but it's not anything serious.**

* * *

><p>Wheeljack watched Miko out of the corner of his optics. She was popping chocolate crickets into her mouth, puzzling at the taste, neither disliking it nor particularly liking it. She was reading a card, slightly blushing. Jack's scrawling handwriting covered the inside. Much more that caught Wheeljack's optics was drawn to the small bouquet of red, pink, and white tulips. He silently applauded Jack—roses would have been too forward, and daisies would have been too cute. He had even attached a plain chocolate bar to the flowers in case Miko didn't like the chocolate crickets—Wheeljack had to admit, the boy was on top of things this Valentine's day.<p>

Still, Miko quietly put the card in her backpack with the chocolate bar, laid the flowers where they wouldn't get crushed, and plopped down on the couch with the boys. "I'm playing next round," she announced. She held out the chocolate crickets to the boys. "Want some?"

Raf turned a hideous shade of green while Jack just made an uncomfortable face. "Uh . . . No thanks, Miko."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself." She settled back to watch for the winner of this round.

Wheeljack blinked. After a minute of silence, he got a ping in his communications, Arcee saying, _"So?"_

_ "I don't know."_

There was a pause. _"You don't know?"_

_ "I don't know," _Wheeljack repeated silently back.

_"Did she like it?"_

_ "She blushed. I take that as a good sign."_

_ "She didn't even mention it to him?"_

_ "I guess it's pretty public right now."_

A second later and an angry grumble sounded from Arcee. _"Please come get your dogs."_

Wheeljack grinned over at her from across the base. Topspin was narrating something eagerly to her, arm slung over her shoulder and a hand gesticulating while Twin Twist laughed so loud Wheeljack could hear him.

_"Aw, what? You don't like them?"_

_ "It's not that," _she said stiffly, _"it's the fact that they won't stop calling me Wookums and have the crudest sense of humor."_

_ "Aw, c'mon Wuggles, you don't like that nickname?"_

_ "I don't. And I don't like Wuggles either. I like Arcee. Now come get them."_

Wheeljack chuckled at her helpless disdain. _"What in the world is he talking about?"_

_ "Some femme he got tangled up with, found out she was cheating on him, and what he did to her when he realized she was cheating on him for Twin Twist."_

Wheeljack snickered before he could stop himself. _"Oh. That one."_

_ "Currently the femme has been stripped naked, painted with red X's over each lady-like part and sent running from the Xantium and in the open because she was so scared of Topspin."_

_ "Yep. She never did come back to get her armor. Ultra Magnus ended up dressing Topspin down and having him deliver the armor back."_

_ "Topspin has just informed me that he never did take the armor back."_

_ "Nope. He sent a completely gleeful Whirl out to taunt her with them."_

_ "She ever get her armor back?"_

_ "After Whirl taunted her to come out and get them in the middle of the hallway. She did, after all, just to get us off her back, but Whirl happily smacked her aft and ran off hollering with laughter."_

A disgruntled rev of her engine. _"Such chivalrous mechs."_

_ "Twin Twist got it worse."_

_ "Dare I ask how?"_

Wheeljack grinned and leaned against the wall, jutting his hips cockily as his optics drilled into Arcee's from across the room. _"Welded him to the Xantium wall, stripped off his armor, cod and all, and left him there."_

There was a pause before Arcee managed, _"So he just left him welded to the wall?"_

_ "Yeah." _Wheeljack chuckled when Arcee just scowled and scoffed. _"And he got his aft hit with Topspin's wrench so bad he had bruises. Funny, really."_

_ "Hilarious," _Arcee's dead-pan voice snarked dryly.

Wheeljack smirked. _"Gets worse. Topspin got all us other Wreckers to smack his aft whenever we passed with the weapon of our choice—a datapad, the blunt end of a gun, a foot. His cursing when we kicked him could be heard across the entire Xantium." _Wheeljack paused with a thoughtful grumble. _"Guess that was why Ultra Magnus found him and had Topspin get him down."_

There was a pause in which Wheeljack saw Arcee look over at Twin Twist with aghast optics when he said something to her. Wheeljack shrugged.

_"Yeah. He'd do it again, wouldn't he?"_

_ "Said it was totally worth getting Topspin slagged off," _Arcee muttered. _"Look, not that this isn't enlightening on how twisted all you Wreckers were, but I really don't give two frags about your sick punishings to each other. Get them AWAY FROM ME."_

Instead of doing that, Wheeljack sauntered forward as the two twins roared with laughter. "Hey, guys—"

"Wheeljack!" Twin Twist grinned from audio receptor to audio receptor as he punched his shoulder. "Wookums here is a real Prowl on the inside, isn't she?"

Arcee scowled and crossed her arms, muttering, "Please, do NOT compare me to Prowl . . ."

"Well, you've certainly got his charming sense of humor," Topspin said with a laughing snort. He crossed his arms and leaned all his weight on one leg. "I can't believe you didn't laugh once at that story! Seriously, Wookums, you are no fun at all. Don't know what Jackie sees in you."

Arcee growled in irritation and clenched her fists. "LOOK. My name is NOT Wookums. It. Is. ARCEE. And if you don't start using it I'm going to rip out your glossia."

Both Wrecker twins grinned at each other. "THAT is what he sees in her," Twin Twist said with a flash of teeth.

Wheeljack waved a hand. "So okay. You don't like Wookums. But hey, we've gotta find her a nickname, right?"

"Sure do," Topspin jumped in before Arcee could stop them. He leaned his visor in close, making Arcee set her jaw and glare back, but he shook his head. "Nah. I'd call her Tight Aft as I'm assuming she's got one and she's certainly stuck up enough, but she doesn't want to be compared to Prowl."

That got all three Wreckers rolling, slapping backs, but Wheeljack sent her a devious grin and waggled his brows. Tight aft, eh? She blushed slightly in indignation, muttering, "I'm out of here."

Wheeljack grabbed her arm to stop her as the twins burst, "No no no no! Okay, wait, let me try again, I'll be serious this time. How about sweet spark?"

"Too generic," Twin Twist snorted. "Miko has claim over Babe, so . . . How about Tigress?"

Arcee gave them a bored but irritated look. "You can't be seriously doing this."

Wheeljack winked. "Preferably, I like Honey Buns."

"Yum," was Twin Twist's off-color comment, and Arcee narrowed her optics. "If you want to call her something like that, why don't you call her Hot Mama?"

Both twins snickered at that, Topspin muttering, "Scrap I love the human vocabulary. Okay, wait—how about this? Pussycat."

"Sex Kitten," were the next words out of Twin Twist's mouth.

The next thing that happened was a fist connected with Twin Twist's mouth, making the Wrecker reel with a laughing shout. Arcee proceeded to do the same to Topspin, and she stomped off with storm clouds rolling over her head.

Wheeljack could only laugh even though he was just going to get in trouble for it later. "Oh, c'mon, Doll Face, it wasn't that bad!"

Twin Twist rubbed his jaw with a grin while Topspin let out an exclamation. "Hey—That glitch went and cracked my visor!"

Twin Twist snorted. "Please. You deserved it."

Topspin glared. "Do you know how hard visors are to replace, man?"

"You glitch about it every time. I'm pretty sure I know by now."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the base, Jack won his round against Raf. Surprisingly. Raf was usually unbeatable next Bumblebee, but the boy's glasses had been slipping down his face and he had taken his hand off the controller to push them back up. Jack had bumped him off the road in that instant, resulting in a crash and his ultimate demise.

Raf sighed but smiled and handed the controller to Miko who promptly snatched it up with a smirk at Jack. She sat her chocolate crickets on the coffee table. "Ready to go down in smoke?" she taunted him over Raf's head.

Jack looked at her curiously a moment, and then he leaned against the arm of the couch with a slow smile. "How about this? Let's make this a little more interesting. Let's have ourselves a wager."

Miko blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack said easily. "You win, I'll do your next English paper—"

"Done," Miko cut in before he could finish.

Jack shook his head with a devilish grin, making Miko's eyes narrow. "You didn't even hear the second half of the wager."

She gave a careless shrug as Raf squirmed uncomfortably between them. "Pfft, it's not like you're going to win anyways."

"Is that so?" Jack challenged with an arch of his brow. "Well. If I win, you have to let me kiss you again."

Miko blushed fifty shades of grey. Finally, with an angry pucker of her lips, she said, "Fine. It's not like you're going to win anyways."

Jack just gave a grin, the glint of competitive light flashing in his eyes. "Game on."

"Game on," she sneered.

The start sign flashed and both teenagers glued their eyes to the screen, all their concentration bent on destroying the other. It wasn't just a matter of a video game anymore. It was their own survival, their pride—it depended upon the win. Raf shrank down in the pillows between them, feeling like he was stuck in the center of their argument and wanting no part of it.

The game was heated. Miko had her shoulders scrunched and her tongue poked out, and Jack's brows were furrowed with his eyes squinted slightly. The little tire screeches were dictating their fate—the shame of having to bend to another kiss, or the labor of doing an extra paper? For the duration of the time, Miko had the lead with a smug little snark on her face, and it made little beads of sweat break out on Jack's forehead.

She wasn't going to win again.

Using a move that Miko quite frequently employed on him, Jack knocked her back tire and sent her into a vicious spinout. She all but screamed in horror as his car glided past the finish line.

Score one: Jack. None for Miko.

There was a moment in which Raf visibly curled up and pressed deeper into the couch. Jack gave a hoot of accomplishment before tossing the remote cockily on the coffee table and lounging back with a smirk. Miko, still clutching the remote in her hand, stared blankly at the screen before her. The color slowly leeched from her face.

"No. Just—No."

He gave a cheeky little grin. "Yes."

Miko jolted to her feet, heat searing her cheeks as she threw the remote down on the couch. Raf flinched even though the projectile missed by a mile. "No. This isn't—NO."

Jack's grin faltered when he watched her stomp away. "Miko?"

When she didn't stop, stamping angrily down the steps, he jumped to his feet and jogged after her. "Wait, Miko, c'mon. Is it really that bad?"

She whirled, shouting up at him, "Yes!" Then, her mouth worked a moment, and she shook her head before trying to say something else. The words stuck, and she just scowled, shoved him, and continued to move away.

For a second, Jack just watched her, stunned, and then he bolted after her again. "Miko, wait. I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

She turned on him again, ugly heat splotching her cheeks. "You—I—This—AH!"

With a short, frustrated scream, she turned and strode off again, pulling on her pigtails with confusion. Jack stood rooted to the spot, wondering where he had went wrong, and finally, he moved again, following her into the hallway. He waved Wheeljack off when the great guardian wanted to follow.

"Miko?"

She growled. She GROWLED at him! "Go away!"

Jack pushed aside his affronted feelings and instead said lightly, "You've been hanging around Wheeljack too long if you're starting to growl as bad as he is."

She growled again. "I said, GO. AWAY."

"No."

She stopped, whipping around with wide eyes that he had refused her, and Jack crossed his arms, hiking up a brow. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong. Were the flowers too forward?"

"Wh-what? N-No! Jeez, don't be stupid!" Still, she crossed her arms too, glaring sideways at the wall.

Jack gave a little shrug. "So?"

"So, what?" Miko shot back.

Jack rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Miko. Talk."

"I am talking!"

"Am I that bad?"

Miko looked up with another agape blink before she exploded, "Jack, what the hell is wrong with you?"

He made an uncertain face. "That's what I'm trying to figure out?"

In the next instant, Jack would rue his words as Miko reeled back her fist and let it fly. With a stunning crack to his chin, Jack shouted and stumbled backwards, a hand flashing to his chin.

"Miko! What the heck?"

As he sucked up the blood from his tongue he had bitten, nursing his throbbing cheek, Miko's entire body seemed to hinge up as she finally shouted, "You're an idiot!"

With an exasperated sigh, Jack gave a helpless gesture. "I see. You tell me this all the time. Now would you care to FINALLY explain to me what is it?"

Miko growled again, and she took a step forward. Jack's eyes popped because he nearly mistook her aggression for her going to launch a kiss at him. "You! You're—you're just so stupid!"

"How?"

"That's how!" she exploded. With a groan, she pulled on her pigtails again, stalking away and then back again, pointing an accusing finger. "You act like every fragging thing is your fault! It's not you! It's me!" With a grumble, Miko crossed her arms again, muttering, "Well fine, it's you too, freaking pretty boy with fwoofy hair . . ."

Jack made a slightly affronted face, looking up. "Fwoofy?"

Miko scowled. "You look like you belong in a boy band. It's disgusting."

"I'm disgusting?" Jack said. He frowned at her. "Oh yeah? You look like one of those crazy girls from a punk rock band!"

Miko turned and arched a brow at him. "Newsflash? I like that?"

Jack sputtered. "Well . . . I like how I look!"

"Oh boy . . ." Miko groaned. She pressed her fists to her eyes.

After a minute of awkward silence in which neither teenager was able to fill the silence, Jack finally passed a hand through said "fwoofy" hair and pinched his brow. "S-So you never did tell me. It's you? How so?"

Miko's face flushed. Finally, she turned to walk off, muttering, "It's nothing."

Jack grabbed her hand, yanking her to him when she tried to leave again, bursting, "No, it's not!" Miko squeaked, blushing sky high and covering her mouth of the morbidly embarrassing sound as her eyes pinned to where his hand gripped her wrist. Jack eyes slipped down, and he slowly let go of her. Miko crossed her arms, looking at the floor.

"Honestly? I wouldn't be caught dead with a guy like you."

Jack blinked. Vaguely, a second later, he realized that that HURT. "What?"

Miko made a helplessly confused face as she muttered, "Well . . . I mean, you're a goody-two-shoes kid, all work and no play, you're serious, you're smart, responsible, and you're definitely NOT my type."

After considering this for a moment, Jack leaned towards her. "But you still like me."

The bold statement made her face flush again. She looked away.

Jack shrugged. "So. You want someone older, leather, tattoos, colored hair, chains, metal-head," he snapped his fingers, "and a monster truck driver. That suits you, right?" Miko didn't say anything, and so Jack just shrugged again, finally saying, "Well, that's okay. Because I wouldn't be caught dead with you either."

She looked up with bugging eyes. Her jaw dropped. "What?"

Jack threw his hands out. "Well, I mean, look at you! You've dyed your hair some ridiculous pink, you wear those god-awful boots, you're into the scariest and nosiest music I've ever heard before in my LIFE, and you've got a serious addiction for adrenaline." He put his hands on his hips and took a step forward, looking down at her. "And I, for one, know that you are not my type."

Miko gave a little laugh, taking this as him backing off. "Y-Yeah. I mean, you can't bring in someone like me for your mom to meet . . ."

She took another step back when he closed the gap, and her breath hitched when he grabbed her chin. "Good thing you've already met my mom," he said. Then, he kissed her.

* * *

><p>Arcee tapped Wheeljack's shoulder. He pulled his head back. "So?"<p>

Wheeljack grinned. "They're totally making out."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Optimus Prime? Got a minute?"<p>

The Prime turned, tearing his grieving mind away from his spark mate. It had been a long time since he had let himself think of her, but the Valentine's Day spirit had gotten to him, and he had let his mind wander to her again, wondering if she yet still stood against Shockwave, how she was, did she have enough energon to survive? His entire spark suffered as he could only feel her faintly over the great distances of time and space; just enough to know she was still alive, but nothing more. He shook his head, directing his attention to the two Wreckers before him. "What is it?" he asked, secretly thankful that they had distracted him from his painful train of thought.

Topspin shifted. "Well, um . . . We figured you ought to know what's happened on the Cybertron front."

"Actually," Twin Twist cut in, "I was surprised you hadn't drilled us for it yet."

Optimus nodded gracefully, saying, "I thought it would be better to first let you acclimate yourselves to your new environment." The Prime paused. "What has happened?"

Twin Twist shook his head. "It's not good," he finally said. "There might be a pocket of Autobot resistance, but . . . for the most part, we're decimated. We lost the front."

"Iacon has fallen," Topspin said. A rumble rattled in Optimus's chassis. "The Wreckers scattered to the stars. There's no telling what's happened beyond then."

Optimus blinked. "Do you know of Alpha Trion's fate?"

The twins looked at each other. Twin Twist finally shook his head. "I don't know. Last I heard, he had said he would fall with Iacon. So . . ."

Optimus vented tiredly, looking away with a brooding expression as he contemplated this. Finally, Topspin cleared his throat. "Um . . . I'm afraid you're down a commander. Ultra Magnus sacrificed himself to give us time to flee."

The Prime gave a slow, heavy nod. "Yes . . . I know."

Topspin's helm snapped up. "W-What? You already know?"

Optimus nodded. His hands clenched. "Yes . . ." He paused, looking at the two Wreckers that were so astonished. Finally, relenting, he said quietly, "It is a little known fact that Ultra Magnus and I are brothers."

Twin Twist and Topspin gaped. After a moment, Twin Twist finally gathered himself and gave a snapping salute, suddenly saying, "I'm sorry. We've been treating you frivolously as a commander."

Topspin snapped into the same salute. "It won't happen again, sir!"

"We'd be honored to fight by your side."

Their sudden change of demeanor amused Optimus, but it warmed him that they loved and respected his brother so much. "At ease, soldiers." They dropped their stance, and Optimus nodded again, saying, "It is an honor to have such formidable warriors as you at my side."

Twin Twist nodded, and then, he turned with an agape face at his brother. "Scrap, we've gotta tell Wheeljack!" Then, he jerked and turned back with squared shoulders to Optimus. "I mean-if that's all right with you?"

Their twin stances were exactly the same, and Optimus could see their lips twitching to the left as they tried to fight back some sort of expression. He very nearly chuckled, glad to see these two brothers that gave him such fond memories of his own brother. "It is fine by me," he told them.

Both immediately broke into grins, and they ran off, hooting, Topspin shouting, "Aw, man, Blinky ain't never going to believe this one!"

Twin Twist echoed, "Aw man, we should have SEEN that family resemblance! Primus, right in front of my face I'm so blind!"

Optimus quirked a brow. Blinky? His lip curled up. Yes, they were good mechs. And it warmed his spark to know his brother's memory would not be lost.

The twins shouted Wheeljack's name, and they practically collided with him and Arcee as they spied on Miko and Jack. Wheeljack, hit with the brunt of Topspin, went staggering, and all the commotion broke a particularly sweet kiss that had been supposed to be private.

"WHEELJACK! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

Wheeljack winced at the shrill volume of Miko's voice, and he mentally apologized to Jack for interrupting as Miko went flying down the hall to preserve the last of her dignity. Jack followed with a shout, and Arcee snarled as she pushed Twin Twist off of her who was stammering, "Sorry, Wookums! I didn't mean it, honest!"

"MY NAME IS NOT WOOKUMS!" and with a rather shrill snarl of her own, Arcee stomped off the other way. That left Wheeljack glaring at the impish and grinning twins that seemed rather pleased with how things had unraveled.

"This had better be fragging good to make up for what you just let happen."

Twin Twist laughed at his sour expression, and he clapped his shoulder. "Listen, Blinky, I'm gonna let you in on a secret."

"Ultra Magnus is Optimus's brother!" Topspin cut in excitedly. With a shout and a groan, "You stole my thunder!" and Twin Twist shoved his brother sulkily and crossed his arms.

Wheeljack blinked. The words refused to compute for a second. Ultra Magnus and . . . Optimus? After a moment where the shock finally settled in, Wheeljack croaked out, "They're brothers?"

"Yeah!" Topspin said with a grin. He jabbed his thumb back. "Cool, isn't it? I mean, look at him! We should have realized the second we saw him!"

"He's—" Wheeljack's vocalizer broke off, and finally, he pushed past the twins to approach Optimus. The Prime turned, and the only words Wheeljack could find in him to say was,

"Why didn't you tell me you were his brother?"

His wise gaze settled on Wheeljack, and he said softly, "It was not the most prudent time to be unveiling this information."

"Prudent," Wheeljack snorted. He narrowed his optics at the Prime. "If he was your brother, you're sitting here fighting spark break, and you didn't think that was prudent to tell anyone?"

Optimus didn't flinch, but his gaze did settle a bit more solemn on Wheeljack as he murmured, "You were hurt enough and I wasn't going to add to your pain."

_Nor make you bear the burden of my loss._

Wheeljack stepped back then at the silent communication, and he gave a curt nod. "Right. Well . . ." After a moment in which Wheeljack didn't know what to say, he finally jabbed a thumb behind him. "Guess I better go mend things over with Miko again." He started to turn to go, hesitated a moment, and then he turned back to Optimus, snapped a tight salute, and disappeared down the halls to find his charge.

* * *

><p>Wheeljack stared up at the ceiling of his berth room, idly rolling his grenade in his hands.<p>

Miko was happy. She tried to downplay it, but he could tell she was ecstatic that Jack had finally got up the nerve to ask her out—they were going to go see a horror movie in Mrs. Darby's car as both kids had vehemently denied having to have a Cybertronian watching them as, in Miko's words, "It was going to be awkward enough."

So, if Miko had a date, couldn't WHEELJACK have a date?

Valentine's night and Miko and Jack were in perfect company, Jack would drop off Miko at home, so Wheeljack had the night free, all to himself.

. . .

So did Arcee.

As a little light bulb suddenly went off in Wheeljack's head, he gave a roguish grin and slipped his grenade back on his hip as he exited the Jackhammer with a swagger to his step. However, just as he thought he had gotten past the annoyances, a voice called out, "Hey! What's this midnight walk, eh? Are things going to get kinky?"

He halted, groaning on the inside. No. Just . . . no. "What's it got to do with you. Oh! That's right—NOTHING."

Twin Twist just grinned, optics glinting in the night. "No? I can't even watch? I won't say anything, I'll be good."

"You watch and I'll rip your optics out." Wheeljack turned to glare at the Wrecker, letting his ire seep in eerie calm. "You sneak a peek, and I'll tear your processor inside out. She's mine—got it?"

He waved his hands with a smirk. "Easy, Blinky! I'm just joking around!"

Wheeljack's lip curled and little and he just shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Good for nothing fragger . . ."

"Sure I can't watch?"

"TWIN TWIST!"

The Wrecker laughed heartily, shaking his head. "Man, you sure do get riled up over that femme! Got you spouting those stupid little threats in half a nanoclick!"

Turning sharply on his heel, Wheeljack resolutely ignored Twin Twist's barb, knowing the Wrecker just wanted to get him hot under his collar. Maybe he should just take Arcee away in the Jackhammer from those two fraggers. Yeah. Maybe even off the planet . . .

Instead, Wheeljack decided the twins were more trouble than they were worth. Going down into the silo, Wheeljack waltzed in and down the halls, finding himself at the entrance to Arcee's room. After a moment, he decided to Pit with knocking and instead just walked right in to where Arcee's back was to the door, sleeping on her side. He sank down on the berth with her, scooting her over and draping his arm over her.

Arcee woke with a start, and squeak and a snarl before Wheeljack found himself pinned to the berth with a blade at his throat.

There was a moment of silence. Arcee stared in a mixture of horror and shock as Wheeljack had his hands up in surrender. He quirked a brow.

"Things got real kinky real quick, didn't they?"

Arcee groaned, getting off of him and sitting back on her side of the berth as she sheathed her blades. "Wheeljack!" she exclaimed in an undertone. "The frag? You scared the hell out of me!"

He just reclined back with a smirk, crossing his arms behind his back and successfully taking up the entire head of the berth. "You're jumpy, Doll, you know that?"

She narrowed her optics. "You're a fragger. Did you know that?"

He gave a lazy shrug in the darkness. "Sure. But you were the one pinning me down. Then again, I wouldn't mind it if you did that again."

Arcee's processor seemed to stall before she crossed her arms protectively in front of her and growled, "You are too close to me in my own berth. Try something funny and I can take my blades out again."

"I'm not afraid."

"Not afraid when it's at your neck. But your spike?"

His energon tanks rolled uncomfortably. "Now that's just cold."

A small grin pulled at her mouth when she saw the Wrecker wince, and Wheeljack didn't miss it. He shook his head. "Again, I say it again—you are sick and cruel."

"So are you. How many times have I asked to just be called by my own name?"

He snorted. "That is not cruel."

Arcee leaned down, squinting her optics at him. "Is too, BLINKY."

"You don't even know why they call me Blinky."

She leaned back and pursed her lips, knowing she was stumped there. "So? Why do they call you that?"

Wheeljack situated himself more comfortably on the berth. "Wouldn't you like to know, Doll."

She wrinkled her nose at the pet name. "And, if I ask you nicely, you're not going to tell me?"

Wheeljack cocked his head slightly at her as he considered this question. Finally, he said, "Well now, this is a highly guarded secret. If you want the answer, you're gonna have to do more than ask."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Wheeljack grinned slowly. "Oh yeah. You want to know? If you make me overload, I'll let you see why I'm called Blinky."

She paused at that. Wheeljack waited easily beneath her as she considered the trade off. In reality, Wheeljack didn't think it was a bad deal. After all, they had done this before, and with a secret like that she could blackmail him for the rest of his life.

"C'mon, Doll, it IS Valentine's Day."

After a moment, Arcee uncrossed her arms and she threw a leg across him to straddle him.

A wicked grin split Wheeljack's mouth plates.

"So what kind of work am I going to have to do to get this secret?"

Before he could answer, Arcee had leaned down and kissed him, pressing her body flush against his. Wheeljack grunted, shifting and bringing his hands around to clamp down on her hips as she lavished generous attention to his lips, glossia sliding into his mouth. A hungry growl trapped in his throat.

She shifted, trailing hot kisses up to his large audio receptors that made a shiver run up his back. "What you've gotta do is get a little more adventurous than that, Doll. My audio receptors are one of the most sensitive spots on—Ngh—! Frag—!"

She cheekily nipped the edge, making him stiffen like he had been shocked before her glossia laved over the bit edge. Wheeljack groaned, the pleasure spiking his internal temperatures.

"Yeah, like that." He gave a pleased rumble as her lascivious attentions continued, and the points of pain where her fingers dug sharply behind his audio receptors excited him. She stroked them with her tongue, delving into the creases of the ridges, and Wheeljack sighed and moaned beneath her, vocal to urge her on.

"C'mon, Doll, you're neglecting the other delightful parts of my body."

Arcee snorted at his jibe, and just for that she bit his audio receptor again. Wheeljack arched with a groan and a laugh at her displeasure, but she kissed him again, fingers dragging over the front of his armor and teasing the latches to undress him. Wheeljack dug his fingers into the gaps of her hips, and her breath caught as he pulled and touched the wires there. Her breathing faltered; her kisses faltered. Then, stubbornly, she attacked his neck with a suck on the exposed wires, and Wheeljack groaned, arching his neck open and smirking at the ceiling.

"Frag yeah. That's it, Doll. Right there . . ."

His hands passed innately over her aft and he slipped his palms over her thighs. As Arcee curled her tongue around a wire, Wheeljack moaned and arched, grinding his hips into hers.

A second later, a ring filled his audio receptors.

He blinked up at the ceiling, unbelieving that he was getting a call from Miko. What time was it? His inner chronometer read a little past twelve, so he didn't see what the problem was—curfew had been 10, and the kids had been home and in bed a long time ago.

He brought a hand up, pressing on Arcee's chest to get her to stop for a minute. "Hold on," he muttered, "my human partner is jutting in." He answered the call with an irritated roll of his optics, heat simmering just beneath the surface. "Babe, what in Primus's name do you want?"

He regretted his brusque words the instant they were out of his mouth. A watery, "Jackie . . ." filled his audio receptors, and his gut tightened. "Jackie, I'm scared . . ."

He pushed up, sitting up with Arcee looking slightly disgruntled and curious as a severe frown came over his face. "Babe? What's wrong?"

"I—I had a nightmare," she finally stuttered around her crying. She sniffed a couple times, and she hiccupped once. "It—It—Jackie, I'm scared, can you come here please? Please?"

"I—" Wheeljack swallowed his glossia when he looked at Arcee. "You sure, Babe? It wasn't that bad was it?"

"Yeah, it was!" Miko exploded, and she sobbed once before shuddering in shaky breaths to control the fear. "Wheeljack, I'm scared! Dreadwing was there, and he—he was—Bulkhead a-and you and—"

Wheeljack shoved Arcee off of him, and she fell on the ground with an angry grunt and snarl. "Hold on, Babe, I'm coming. I'm coming. Easy, Miko, breathe. Deep breaths. I'll be there in a click, I swear."

She sniffled again, a pathetic little sound that tore his spark out. "O-Okay . . ."

He transformed down the moment he got into the main silo, and he gunned it out of the base and out to the road. The cool breeze washed over him.

"You gonna be okay, Babe?"

"I . . . I don't know . . ."

A ping from Arcee met him. Wheeljack groaned, suddenly realizing exactly what he had just done. "Miko, can you hold on a moment? I got another call."

She sniffed. "O-Okay . . ."

Switching calls, Wheeljack's mentally braced himself for Arcee's barbs. "Arcee?"

"Glad to know you finally learned my name," she said a bit icily. "There a reason you threw me on the floor?"

"Uh . . ." He choked. "Um . . . Miko, had a nightmare."

There was a pause. "A nightmare?"

If Wheeljack had been in bipedal mode, he would have scowled. "Look, it was about Dreadwing. If it had been about anything else I would have told her little aft to suck it up, but Dreadwing? No. Not after what's happened around him."

Arcee made a frustrated out before she blew it all out. "Fine. Fine, all right. Just . . ."

Wheeljack pressed his gas pedal to the floor on the open road. "Just what?"

He heard her scoff. "You know? I don't even know. Just—Just! Frag you are so frustrating . . ."

At Arcee's confusion and lack of being able to be mad at what he was ditching her for, Wheeljack could only chuckle. "Easy, Doll. There'll be plenty of nights for more of this if you're that worried about it."

All he received for that was a harrumph and a dial tone. Wheeljack laughed quietly to himself before he picked up on Miko's end again.

"How you doing, Babe?"

"When are you going to be here?" she asked quickly.

"Soon," he said supportively. The lines on the road zipped past. "Give me five minutes at most. You know how many speed limits I'm breaking?"

She sniffed, and he could hear shuffling over the line. "No. How many?"

"A lot," he said. "I'm going 150 and counting in a 70 mph zone."

She cleared her throat, and he could only imagine what she looked like right now, hair mussed and clothes rumpled; nose runny with puffy cheeks and red rimmed eyes. The mental image he came up with broke his spark. "So, are you in Jasper yet?"

"Not yet," he said, keeping conversation with her to keep her calm. "I see it though. And all the few little lights it has."

"Good," she husked back, voice tired and thick.

"So, how'd things go with you and Jack? He didn't try to make a move on you, did he?"

He chuckled warmly, the sound soothing his charge. "I am not. I'm in my daddy mode now. I've gotta keep an eye on the boys now, and that includes Jack. It go well?"

"Yeah."

When she failed to elaborate, Wheeljack knew he was going to be pulling teeth to get her to talk. He rolled his optics to the dark sky. "All right. So how was the movie? Nice and gory and scary and scrap jumping out at every inopportune moment?"

She gave some more weak laughter, but Wheeljack felt empowered that he was making her forget about her fear. "Yeah, it was good. The monster thing was really creepy looking, twisted all inside out like he was. Dripped blood everywhere and you got to see all his insides hanging out. It was pretty cool."

Wheeljack felt his energon tanks roll a little. Only Miko could watch a horror movie that had some sick creature that was turned inside out and could call it COOL. "Yeah? Everyone die at the end?"

"Pretty much," she said. He could hear the shrug in her voice. "Jack screamed like a pansy."

Wheeljack laughed again, slowing as he sped through Jasper's nearly dead streets. "That so? Did you laugh your way through it?"

"Some of it," she said, giving a slight giggle. "Some of it was pretty scary. Awesome movie. I'd get it on DVD."

"I'm sure you would," Wheeljack said wryly. "So Jack wasn't a killer of the night?"

Miko gave a snort. "Please. He's such a little girl! After the movie he had to go throw up before we went home."

Wheeljack relaxed a little. "Yeah? I guess that means there was no kissing. Good!"

Miko snorted again. "Like I was going to let him kiss me after that. He at least had the good graces not to try." There was a pause. "I should snog him right in front of you, just to see if I could get you to purge."

Wheeljack gave a chuckle, pulling into her subdivision. "I'm not too worried about it, Babe. I've seen a lot worse than whatever you could do with Jack."

Once again Miko snorts. "Seen? I know you Jackie, you've DONE worse! Or at least the Twins make it sound all the Wreckers are with the femmes."

Wheeljack suddenly lost traction and his gearbox slipped at the revelation of information. "Where did you hear that?"

Feeling much better and enjoying the horrified sound coming from her fearless guardian, Miko pressed on, "Well there was this conversation I overheard the Twins talking about the other day. So, a spike?"

"That's it Babe, you are feeling fine, I'm heading back!"

"Chicken!"

"Excuse me?"

As he slammed on the brakes outside of the house, his engine idled with a low purr, and he twitched one of his side view mirrors to the house. "Chicken," she repeated. "You can't tell me exactly how much you guys are like humans? So a spike is a dick and you can have sex just like us?"

Wheeljack groaned, suspension sinking to the ground. "I am KILLING those twins when I get my hands on them. I will KILL them . . ."

Miko seemed to take pity on him them, and she gave one last little laugh before she quieted and cleared her throat. "Well . . . Are you almost here? I . . . still want to see you."

Wheeljack huffed out a sigh and pulled into the driveway. "Yeah, I'm here, Babe." He pulled beneath his window, and Miko ended the call, opened the window, and effortlessly took out the screen before crawling out and climbing in the car.

She cuddled into his seat, toes digging. "Yeah. This is better."

A defeated sigh expelled from Wheeljack's vents. "Everything okay now?"

She nodded, wiping mussy hair away from her face. "Yeah. I feel a lot safer."

His spark panged. Keep her safe . . . from Dreadwing. He wasn't sure if he could do that anymore. "Sure thing, Babe. You get some sleep."

She yawned, but seemingly ignored his question. "So? Did you and Arcee do anything special for Valentine's?"

Wheeljack's vocals fused. "Ah . . . We uh . . ."

There was a palpable pause. Then, Miko groaned. "Oh God."

"Not like that."

She was opening his door now, climbing out. "Just because I wondered does not mean I want to be near you if you've been doing it."

"Babe, seriously, nothing happened. You called before it got serious."

Miko seemed to turn a shade of green. "Ew, God, I called in the MIDDLE of it?"

"No—! Gah, Babe, just drop it. Please," and he flushed, his Wrecker's Pride atrophying at a rapid rate.

She paused. Finally, she decided to climb back in, her want of feeling safe outweighing her disgust at the thought of what Wheeljack had almost been doing. "Well . . . thanks for coming, Dad."

He sighed. His suspension sank, and he warmed the seat for her cold toes. "No problem, Babe."

At this point there was only one thing that had actually ruined Wheeljack's night—

Those fragging twins.

First the jibes on his sexual relationship with Arcee, and then telling Miko much more than she actually needed to know. Viciously, Wheeljack sent a data burst to them:

_When I get my hands on your, you're gonna wish I hadn't. You pick your sorry afts up and get out now while you can or else I'm going to CUT THEM OFF._


	33. Permanent Napping

**Author's Note:**

**Yeah... Someone reminded me I used to have plot and I went "OH FRAG! THE RELIC RACE!"**

**So I had to fix that this chapter. XD**

* * *

><p>"If we are to have any hope of recovering the Iacon relics before the Decepticons do, we must divide our resources."<p>

"But Optimus," Ratchet said," when it comes to numbers, we are already at a grave disadvantage."

"Under the circumstances," Optimus replied, "swiftness of action is paramount. This is one race that we absolutely cannot afford to lose."

Wheeljack was glaring at Topspin and Twin Twist violently from across the base. His arms were crossed; his optics were narrowed. One finger tapped, idly counting down the clicks until he could finally get his hands on those ugly mugs.

_You guys better be happy we have a mission or you would be nothing but spare parts._

The twins didn't grace that with a response, but instead just shifted uncomfortably and clasped their servos in front of them over their delicates out of fear Wheeljack could somehow reach across the room and rip them off from where he stood.

_Dare I ask what we did wrong?_

_If you don't know that then I'm going to reformat you with a lug-wrench._

As Arcee and Bumblebee began to head out with Jack and Miko, Wheeljack slapped Arcee on her aft as she passed. "Knock 'em dead, Doll."

Arcee whirled on him with slitted optics and a point of her finger. "I so swear if you keep up stuff like that I'm going to take an electromagnet and shove it up your aft!"

As she transformed down, Jack straddling her and putting on his helmet, Wheeljack knew it was safe to call out, "C'mon, Doll, don't fight it! You know you like it!"

An audible seethe and she had to go as they went out to the first set of coordinates for the Iacon relics. "Hey, Bee! Take care of my Babe!"

Just as he called that, Raf called, "Take care of him, Miko!"

Amused and disgruntled both, Wheeljack looked down on the tiny human. He blushed sky high and turned his face away. Wheeljack just chuckled.

Optimus turned with heavy step towards Topspin and Twin Twist. "Topspin, Twin Twist, prepare for departure."

"You are headed for the equator," Ratchet told them.

The twins hooted and raced up toward the ground bridge, itching to get some 'Con blood on their servos and also to get away from Wheeljack. As Ratchet started up the bridge, Optimus informed them, "Raf and Agent Fowler will be your communications and transportation hub."

The bots looked back to Raf, not knowing what to think of him yet, but all they got from Agent Fowler was a delirious, "I can haz cheezeburger!"

Twin Twist snorted. "Communications, huh?"

Topspin just shook his head. "I'd rather stick with the short kid." The two Wreckers waltzed out knowing they had dodged Wheeljack's wrath for now.

Wheeljack huffed. He looked at who was left in the room; he thought of the only two remaining coordinates. He blinked. His hands slacked. His jaw nearly dropped. "You can't seriously be pairing me with the Doc."

"My name is not Doc!" was the reflexive reply.

Then, with a snort, Wheeljack decided, to Pit with it! If he was paired with the Doc, he might as well make his life as miserable as possible while he was at it!

"You can't be serious? WHEELJACK?" Ratchet exclaimed in horror. "But—Wheeljack's insubordinate! A ruffian!"

"Charming of you to say, Doc," Wheeljack drawled. Ratchet hissed instinctively at the misuse of the nickname.

"Your expertise is scientific," Optimus stated, voice hard with no room for argument, "but Wheeljack is a highly capable warrior. You would be wise to welcome the temporary alliance." He looked across the room and arched his brow. "That goes for you too, Wheeljack."

"I'll be sure to be on my best behavior for the Doc."

"For the last time, my name is not Doc!"

Wheeljack just grinned. "Whatever you say . . . _sunshine."_

An audible seethe.

* * *

><p>"Holy PIT! This place reeks!"<p>

Twin Twist noted the smell, an astonishing and overwhelmingly amount of sulfur, but he discounted it easier than his brother as they fell in step, searching the area the Iacon databases coordinates had provided. When he had been down in the pits as a miner, you got used to disgusting smells.

Topspin waved beneath his olfactory system. "Aw, c'mon, Twist, this place is worse than the Decepticon barracks!"

Twin Twist snorted. "Ah, shut up, you'll get over it. We've had worse than this."

As they split up, Topspin contemplating this, it was a moment before—if he were human—he would have turned a shade of green. "Very VERY good point," he called to his brother.

Twin Twist just rolled his optics as they combed the area for the hidden relic, but after several minutes of not finding anything in the barren wasteland, Topspin grunted. He accessed his comm. link.

"Hey, we aren't finding anything out here. Can you reconfirm coordinates?" Not that he thought the Doc had bridged them out wrong, he just wanted to be certain.

"Triangulating your position," he heard Raf ping back. A moment, and the boy reported, "You're at the correct location."

Topspin grunted in response. Twin Twist turned to him and arched a brow. "Think it's underground? I can dig around if you'd like, though it'd be tricky to determine where the lava is flowing . . ."

Topspin frowned. "If these are the right coordinates, then I guess we'll have to—"

Both mechs froze hearing thrumming wings. "Insecticons!" Twin Twist muttered. "Guess if the 'Cons are here, the relic must be here too!"

Twin Twist squared off in the direction of the sound of the Decepticon and Topspin ducked down, propping his gun in the direction of the buzz. Then, the instant the Insecticon rounded the curve, both mechs open fired.

Blue lasers shot out, and then, instead of averting its path to avoid the range of fire, it plowed straight through and aimed for Twin Twist. He yelled when the Insecticon crashed right into him, dragging him off.

Topspin jumped up when Twin Twist was carried off by the Insecticon. "You fragger!" he shouted. He transformed down quickly, gunning it after them. "You weren't supposed to let that happen, Twist! Argh! You're always making things difficult!"

Twin Twist gritted his dentures, feeling a slight bit panicky without his feet properly on the ground as they whizzed around in the air until a sudden, painful stop as he felt himself slammed into a rock face. The world tipped and whirled again, and his weight left for a second before he crashed to the ground with a painful grunt.

Recalibrating his dizzied optics, feeling much better now that he was on the ground, Twin Twist stood up, glaring at his adversary that landed in front of him. The Insecticon was decorated with numerous battle scars, scars of pride and weathered skill and age. He shifted. The older the Insecticon, the harder the shell.

The giant Insecticon charged, and Twin Twist engaged in the close combat with him, the heavier blows of the 'Con shocking up his suspension. He didn't waver an inch, his shock absorbers taking the brunt of the blows as his forearm met his fist and he ducked beneath an arm heavy as an iron beam and clocked the Insecticon right in the jaw. They separated, and a smirk touched his lips.

"Ain't that lazy of Megatron? Sends a bug to do his dirty work?" He tutted his glossia, shaking his head as he pinged to Topspin, _"Hey, I'm over here. Where you at and when you getting here?"_

The Insecticon growled, spitting back, "You know a thing or two about dirty work yourself, Wrecker."

Twin Twist's lips flattened. "I know you or something?"

_"Half a minute out. Hang on that long for me, will ya? I'd hate to be patching you up the second we got out here."_

_ "If this bug keeps running his mouth that'll be no problem."_

"I know your kind, as I've crushed more than a few Wreckers in my time."

White hot fury blazed to life in Twin Twist at his arrogant claim, and it bled over the bond with his brother. Twin Twist paced around with the Insecticon, counting down the seconds until Topspin would get there. "You see," he said back evenly, "the thing about bugs your size is they'll make a bigger mess when I rip them open!"

Implanted brass knuckles transformed out of Twin Twist's hands, and he engaged Hardshell again, taking the offensive to fuel his rage. He hit the bug with all his might, but he didn't even feel his shell bend beneath the force of his blows. That was only made worse when Twin Twist suddenly got a face full of claws clocking his chin before picking him up by the neck and slinging him around like a toy. The ground whooshed up and a heavy grunt tumbled from his vocalizer. Desperately, he rolled away, and he felt the air move from where the Insecticon's foot came down so hard.

"Hey, ugly!"

A volley of blaster fire assaulted the Insecticon from the rear, and Topspin ran up, skirting around and distracting the monster as Twin Twist gathered his bearings, energon leaking from his mouth. He rubbed it away in irritation as they double teamed the Insecticon, hitting and ducking away and short-distance attacks as the brothers wore him down with a fight. Twin Twist suffered a bone-shattering strong double-hit to the front that sent the driller flying back and shouting. Topspin skidded to the side, covering him and blasting a few more shots to the Hardshell's front, but to his dismay, his bullets barely made the thing flinch.

Topspin darted forward with a flurry of quick fists, but it didn't faze the Insecticon. Twin Twist transformed behind him, drills whining as he barreled forward when Hardshell slammed his brother to the ground. Topspin groaned and growled, and when Hardshell lifted his fist to crush his helm in, Twin Twist crashed into his side, drills tearing at his metal. The 'Con shrieked in pain as his drills chipped and cut his armor, and with a grit of his teeth, Twin Twist transformed to bipedal mode again, grabbed a mandible, and yanked with all his might. It ripped free with another piercing shriek, and he fisted both hands together and threw them with the entire winding force of his body. His fists crashed into the 'Con's jaw, knocking him out instantly.

Twin Twist panted, staggering a moment before he whirled back to his brother who staggered to his feet. "You okay?" he asked, pressing a hand to his aching chassis where Hardshell's two-fisted blow had literally dented it inward.

Topspin roughly wiped away the leak in his mouth. "Fine. Relic first, bugs later. We gotta find that thing before they do."

Twin Twist frowned, turning as he said, "But we don't—" And then, he paused. His optics narrowed at the ground, and then, he grinned. "Hey, Spin? Check out the creases in the ground there. There used to be a lava flow here. And what do you want to bet . . .?"

Topspin blinked. "Bet what?"

"Betcha it was carried downstream."

"Carried downstream," he repeated dumbly. Then, Topspin grinned at his brother. "You, good sir, are a genius."

They transformed down and headed off, Twin Twist saying mildly, "I know."

"Hey, Raf?" Topspin said into the communications. "We got a bead on the relic."

"Raf's busy," a deeper voice cut in. "I'll take it from here."

The two Wreckers gave big laughs. "Oh! So big man's got some brains!"

"Got enough beauty sleep?" Twin Twist said with rev of his engine.

Topspin sniggered. "Not that I think it'll help you any."

"Nice one, Spin!"

"I'm doing just fine," Fowler cut in flatly. "Dreamt I finally got a little respect around here."

_"Oooh-hoo,"_ Topspin hooted. "You keep dreaming on that one, little organic!"

The human made a frustrated noise before saying cryptically, "What's your status?"

"Came up empty at the provided coordinates," Twin Twist jumped in on the explanation. "But I found the residue of an old lava flow and figured it must have carried the relic downhill."

"Wouldn't that just burn it up?"

"Nah," Topspin added. "These relics survive interstellar transport. With all the hell between Cybertron and Earth, I think they could withstand a little molten lava. You don't honestly think we'd put a relic in porcelain glass, do—Aw, scrap."

Twin Twist looked over at his brother. "What?"

"What is it?"

"I'm leaking energon," Topspin muttered on a slight whine. "Fragging Insecticon hit me hard."

"INSECTICON?" Fowler repeated.

Topspin snorted. "Yeah, well . . . It's probably nothing serious. Maybe just knocked a gasket loose." Either way, he was running diagnostics to find the problem. It wasn't a gasket, just an energon line cinched near a transformation gear. While he may cut through the line with numerous transformations, it was nothing life-threatening, just a tiny leak that would plague him. "It's nothing to worry about. Trust me, that mech's in way worse shape than we are!"

The Wreckers laughed again, getting a kick out of being back in the field. The boring days of interstellar travel to find the front of the war had taxed their patience thin, and they were glad to be getting back into the swing of things.

"Here we are!" Topspin cajoled cheerfully as the bin came into sight. He transformed up with his brother, and Twin Twist reached down to open the lid. He grunted, the thing sealed tight with rust and a fine crust of hardened lava, and then, it popped free so suddenly that he fell back with a thud.

Topspin gave a great laugh. "Nice one, Twist!"

Twin Twist wasn't even mildly ruffled. He gave a little shrug. "I got the lid off," he said with easy humor. He tossed it behind him, and Topspin just grinned as he checked out their relic—and he froze for a moment, the smell stinging his olfactory sensors with a nauseating sense before he backed way off the pod, motioning his brother back.

He mechanically touched his audio receptor. "Base, we have a problem."

"Twin Twist, what is it?"

"It's Topspin," he said back. "We found the relic, but it's a cache of energon."

"That's good, right?"

"No no no," he said quickly, "not this kind." He kept pushing his brother back, and it suddenly occurred to Twin Twist too what it was as he smelled it. "This is Tox-En." The medic immediately rattled off the symptoms. "Causes nausea and dizziness upon contact; prolonged exposure weakens us to the point of paralysis; and then it snuffs out our sparks. It's a rapid acting poison—We'd be dead within hours."

"Well what are you talking to me for?" Fowler interrupted. "Get away from that stuff pronto! If it's as deadly as you say, the 'Cons won't want it either!"

"No," Topspin growled, "they'll want it even more! During the War for Cybertron, some of Megatron's scientists figured out how to refine raw Tox-En, turned it into a weapon of mass destruction. I've seen countless units wiped out by it, there's no way we can let the 'Cons get their hands on this."

"So bring it back here—" Fowler started to say.

"No!" Topspin cut in again. "The stuff's way too potent, even IF we had something to contain it in. I can't risk that kind of exposure to the rest of us, much less what it would do to you humans!" The buzz of Insecticon wings filled his audio receptors, and he huffed in irritation. "I'll call you back," and he cut the conversation brusquely.

Both mechs looked down on the pod as each contemplated what to do with it. Finally, they looked at each other; and grinned.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"You know I know I'm thinking I know what you're thinking."

Their grins broadened. "Wrecker style, baby."

"Let's get it done!"

They easily left a little bit of the Tox-En in the bin as a decoy, Twin Twist rigging the lid so that when the 'Cons took it off the grenade hidden at the bottom would blow. Fool-proof plan to knock out one of the fraggers on their tail. Then, they split up. Twin Twist would take the Tox-En to the top of the volcano and drop it in the lava and presto, no more Tox-En; he would be taking it because he could determine if the ground at the top was safe to walk on, and also because Topspin was leaking. Topspin would leave the Insecticons a phony trail as a decoy to buy Twin Twist some time.

* * *

><p>Oh-ho, MAN! Did the Doc ever scream like a light-weight!<p>

Wheeljack chuckled to himself as he followed the coordinates to the Iacon relic. Half the fun had been getting on Ratchet's nerves, the other half of the fun had been shooting down Laserbeak. It got even better since the Doc had shown his shrewd mind and instead of just simply planting a phony grenade in Laserbeak, they were going to plant a virus that would implant the entire Iacon database into their systems. Pretty nifty trick Ratchet and Raf were pulling.

Honestly, of the entire day, Wheeljack was only a little irritated because Soundwave had got a cheap shot to his right thruster, fried it, and the Jackhammer was grounded. Thus, he was driving and this whole trip was taking a helluva a lot longer, but if he could swipe a relic and stall Soundwave so Ratchet had time to infect his little snitch, overall—

It was going to be one HELLUVA day!

Filled with confidence, Wheeljack saw Soundwave with the relic in hand and didn't think twice—with a mighty yell, he leapt recklessly down at the 'Con in a downward slash, and true to Soundwave's lightweight form, the 'Con jumped back and out of the way. Wheeljack smirked from behind his battle mask.

"You dropped something!"

His head turned down the steep cliff sighting the relic at the bottom; his mannerisms bled of irritated astonishment.

The sunset dipped in a dramatic backdrop for their next tussle, and Wheeljack twirled his blades. Soundwave's ever silent helm snapped to him as they squared off. Soundwave, rumored to be of equal skill to Megatron when they fought in the pits of Kaon. Now, it was time to see if he still had that skill.

"This should be fun."

With a yell, Wheeljack closed the gap between him and Soundwave quickly. He slashed down again, and Soundwave dodged with minimal movements, a graceful dance of spins that avoided his every attack. He blocked his attacks—one, two, and caught the third beneath his arm, and with a tentacle, the extra appendage knocked Wheeljack back and ripped the blade from his hand. For a second, Wheeljack's entire body tensed up as he quavered at the edge of the bridge and fought for balance.

As he reeled back upright, he saw Soundwave inspecting his blade, testing its weight and length with interest, as if he hadn't held an actual sword in ages. Wheeljack narrowed his optics and charged again.

Instead of using the katana, obviously deeming that its shape and weight didn't suit him, Soundwave instead threw it with pinpoint accuracy at the Wrecker. Wheeljack knocked it aside, leapt up for a downward slash, and he grunted when one of Soundwave's tentacles grabbed his helm—

And lifted him all the way off his feet.

Wheeljack get a shout of surprise, not expecting the raw strength to come from such flimsy looking tentacles, and he felt himself slung and slammed forcefully into the ground. All the breath shocked from his systems before he was picked up and tossed to the ground again, this time sliding precariously towards the edge again. Wheeljack blinked with disorientation, optics fritzing as he quickly recalibrated to see, and he felt his shoulder grabbed, and forcefully turned over. A tentacle pressed on his chassis with the strength of a mountain lion, and he pulled on it, unable to move it. The other tentacle whirred and spun like a drill, and he caught it, yelling and snarling as he held it away from drilling straight down into his processor.

With a slight of his hand, Wheeljack forced the tentacle down into the other one, and both tentacles retreated with a silent scream. Wheeljack jumped up, and taking advantage of putting him on the retreat, slammed the front of his helm right into Soundwave's face. Soundwave staggered back, and Wheeljack smirked behind his battle mask as a crack spread through his visor.

"There I go again shattering expectations."

It was easy to blast Soundwave several times with his ion cannons, the 'Con momentarily having his programming glitch from the sheer force of the head butt, and Wheeljack leapt, jutting his knee up into Soundwave's chassis and knocking him off the ledge. They fell with a mighty crash, and Wheeljack smirked as he came up, pointing his ion cannon down at the 'Con.

Too easy.

"Any last words?" Wheeljack snarked to him. He waited several moments, giving him ample time, but as he thought, the bot was obstinate and refused anything. "Right. Silent type." And he charged his ion cannon, ready to make sure that the 'Con really did embody the phrase _silent as the grave._

Until, blinding agony.

Wheeljack roared, screaming out as the sound waves lambasted near his helm, so loud, so potent that it shorted out his optics and rang on such a shrill and vibrating pitch that it caused physical pain on his sensitive audio receptors. Wheeljack arched and howled, vocalizer cracking under the strain as the sound waves warped around him, grating against his processor, and making his systems malfunction. When the waves finally stopped, Wheeljack collapsed in a heap.

His optics caught sight of a staticy smudge moving, and then, with a last groan, lost his consciousness for a moment. He came to again a second later, struggling to stay alert and awake, but he couldn't hear anything through the white ringing of his audio receptors. A fuzzy image of Soundwave pointing the Resonance Blaster at him processed in his mind, and his processor was so fried after taking the brunt of the weapon that all he could think was, _Primus damn you, Miko, I'm sitting here dying at every turn and you want me to live? Pit, I'm so tired right now I'd rather just go to sleep and not wake up right now. Damn you for keeping me awake, Miko, damn you._

And then, the smudge of Soundwave moved. He was like a wraith in his static-filled optics, and he watched as Soundwave transformed and left. He barely heard the kick of his thrusters as his audio receptors began to recalibrate and fix themselves.

He didn't terminate him? Now why the frag not? That didn't make any sense. Oh, wait—the snitch. His snitch. Ratchet had his snitch. That was right.

With a heavy groan, Wheeljack summoned enough power to contact Ratchet. "Doc . . ." he slurred out.

_"Wheeljack, I told you not to call me that!"_

Ratchet's exasperated shout did nothing but draw knives across Wheeljack's audio receptors. "I'm sorry . . ." he breathed.

He could feel the pause from over the line. "Wheeljack? What's wrong? Where are you?"

Was the Doc out of his mind? That didn't matter at the moment. Wheeljack mumbled out, "Ah . . . Figure you got maybe . . . ah, two minutes . . ." His contact kept cutting in and out, and he kept having to reopen the link, unable to force it to stay up. "Maybe less . . ."

With a soft groan, Wheeljack sank down, unable to keep his processor functioning at the moment. He'd just take himself a short nap. Primus knew he needed it . . . just a short one . . .

* * *

><p>"Wake up! Wake up, Primus damn you, this is no time to be napping!"<p>

_SLAP. SLAP. SLAP._

His vocals fritzed and slurred. "Shtap hittin' me, Spin . . ."

Harder slaps. "I'm not going to stop slapping you until you WAKE UP! Primus slag you to the Pit, WAKE UP! We're almost there! You want to let those Insecticons walk all over you? Pitifulest of pitiful Wreckers because he wanted to take a NAP!"

Twin Twist finally got his sluggish systems to recalibrate slowly, blinking owlishly up at his brother who was stressed and tired, and had a new leak running down his shoulder. "What?"

"Get up," Topspin snapped. He pulled him up, and Twin Twist groaned as he struggled to get his weak knees to lock and his ankles to stop wobbling. The world swam in a sickening world of blurs, and he blinked, trying to focus. "Just over this last ridge, Twist, and we'll make it and the Tox-En will be gone, I promise. Now c'mon! Let's get to it! We're almost done with this hellhole!"

Twin Twist scowled, a little delirious and so dizzy he had to hold on to Topspin so he wouldn't fall. "Fine," he snapped irritably. He shoved the lump of steaming green raw energon into his brother's servos. "You carry that slag."

"Yeah, I'll carry it," Topspin said even as he felt his optics and olfactory systems stinging at the drugged poison's steaming. He could feel its toll immediately, seeping into open wounds it reeked so strong. He looped his brother's arm around his shoulder. "Last stretch, soldier, let's get moving!"

Twin Twist grunted, struggling to stay alert as he shuffled forward with Topspin up the volcanic mountain. "And . . . the bugs . . . ?"

"Not here right yet, but I'll bet my favorite blaster that they're figuring it out by now."

"Ngh . . ." Twin Twist gave a noncommittal grunt, swallowed up by the atrophying stench of the Tox-En that filled his systems to crippling.

"Hey, hey, did you know Fowler was an Army Ranger?"

Twin Twist fought against the tired sluggishness of his systems. "He was?"

"Yeah," Topspin said with as much energetic bravado as he could, trying to keep his brother talking and alert. "Big hot shot. He's done this before, y'know."

A flat laugh as he stumbled over the ground, trying to get uphill with his brother. "Dragged butt with Tox-En exposure?"

"No no no," Topspin said quickly, trying not to vent too fast so he wouldn't take in as much Tox-En fumes. Still, it was either he take big whiffs of Tox-En or risk overheating in this Primus-forsaken volcano that was cooking them like sheet metal over coals. "He was caught behind enemy lines with his unit once. He did the same thing that I did, left a fake trail for the enemy."

"Fascinating . . ." Twin Twist mumbled. He felt like he could barely keep his optics open. The dizzying heat that grew hotter and hotter the closer they got to the top of the mountain seemed to cause even more disorientation with heat waves tricking his already impaired optics.

Topspin shook him awake again. "Hey! Wake up! Look, we're at the top. C'mon Twist, hang tough, we're at the top—oh scrap. Is that okay to walk on?"

Twin Twist lifted his head, inspecting the summit's crater. He could see the steaming hole in the crater that was slowly closing as the lava congealed, and after inspecting the area with a critical optic, finally deduced, "Yeah. It'll hold us. It's just some fissure vents. We'll be fine . . ."

Topspin tugged him. "Then let's go. C'mon, we gotta stick together and finish this real quick."

As Topspin began to lead him out, Twin Twist grunted. "I'm right here. Go ahead and run up and dump it in there . . ."

"WRECKERS!"

Topspin jumped while Twin Twist simply gazed up in tired irritation that the Insecticons were back. Hardshell landed in front of them. "Put down the rock, and allow us to put you out of your misery!"

Topspin shoved the Tox-Ex back into Twin Twist's hands, muttering, "Hold that for me."

Twin Twist actually grew more alert with the enemy there. He lifted his head, staring a little blearily at the three Insecticons that had them surrounded. "Great. More flies to swat . . ."

Twin Twist took initiative, taking a grenade in his free hand, flicked the pin out with his thumb, and threw it at the 'Con on the far side. It was blown back with a horrible screech, and all hell unleashed. Topspin battled again with Hardshell, a constant stream of curses as he was better at picking off his enemies with a rifle instead of trying to do hand-to-hand combat. Twin Twist, on the other hand, fell into his closer combat easier, even if sluggish, and he used the Tox-En to his advantage, gouging it up into the Insecticon's throat. It shrieked when the metal bent in, the sizzled of the Tox-En and the lava steaming everything and it choked on the smell of the poisonous energon. With a wind up, Twin Twist socked the Insecticon in the face.

Topspin felt himself thrown again by Hardshell, and he landed, leg breaking through a thinner layer of solidified lava, and it plunged into white-hot liquids. Topspin screamed in raw pain as he jerked away, the heat eating through his metal and seeping beneath his armor to burn his protoform and circuits. Wildly, he knew he had to get their battle away from the mouth of the volcano or else fall through the weaker solidified magma, but as Hardshell bore down again, Twin Twist shouted out, "Hey, bug! Catch!"

Hardshell turned, and the Insecticon fumbled, catching the chunk of Tox-En, and before he could reset his footing, Topspin lunged and, ignoring the pain throbbing up his leg, gave his swiftest roundhouse kick. The Insecticon stumbled backwards with a screech, falling into the lava pit. Topspin limped to the edge, peering over, and he saw the 'Con's arm and a last bit of sickening green sink into the lava.

A garbled snarl from his brother. "Spin!"

Topspin whirled, servos transforming into his ion cannons instantly as he shot the Insecticon down from a distance. It fell with a shriek, several more blasts taking it all the way down.

He groaned—his systems felt sluggish. He could only imagine how Twin Twist felt, having carried the Tox-En the ENTIRE time. He limped over to Twin Twist, helping heave the exhausted Wrecker to his feet. "Fowler . . . Mission accomplished."

Twin Twist's voice slurred. "You're gonna have to . . . tuck me in . . ."

Topspin chuckled as they helped each other towards the ground bridge. "Unicron's Baby, let's get the frag outta this place, right? Smells as bad as you."

"Oh you're one to talk—"

A blast ripped his brother from his arms, and Topspin felt blinding pain explode from across the bond. He pitched to his knees at the edge of the ground bridge, agony flaring bright behind his optics as his brother's spark flickered offline.

"TWIST! OH PRIMUS PLEASE—TWIST!"

He was gone. A split instant, no warning, and he was gone. There was nothing left, just an empty, jagged hole in his spark where his brother's spark should have been. Topspin groaned, pulling himself forward as he heard Hardshell's triumphant screech behind him like Hell's cheers in his audio receptors. Topspin dragged himself forward through the bridge, knowing he was next if he didn't move, but unsure if he would rather just bite the bullet and get put out of his misery at this point.

"Shut the bridge!" he shouted, half in and half out. "Shut the bridge!"

He just barely managed to swing his legs inside before the bridge closed behind him. Cold silence blanketed the room as smoke poured from Twin Twist's back, and Topspin groaned in delirious torment as he fell into that empty hole in his spark. The darkness there welcomed him, beckoned him, promised to erase his anguish. His brother was there, he had to go too . . .

"Twist . . . Twist . . . _Twist . . ."_


	34. Avengers

**Author's Note:**

**Just wanted to say thanks to all my wonderful reviewers for all the reviews and favs you guys drop! :)**

* * *

><p>The base erupted in a flurry of activity.<p>

Ratchet had his defibrillators in his servos so quickly they might as well have appeared, flipping over Twin Twist in half a click as he began to process of shocking his spark back into beating.

Bumblebee and Arcee came through, but Topspin could barely hear Miko's scream of horror. He was locked in his own kind of agony, something that Ratchet couldn't help him with until he brought Twin Twist back online. IF Ratchet managed to bring him back online . . .

A despairing moan fell from Topspin's vocalizer. His hands stretched across the floor, reaching for his brother, but he was too far away to touch him. The nothingness bled raw agony into his spark, so empty, so dark, so welcoming . . .

Tiny sparks of pain began to dance up his face. Again and again. With a start, he realized he was being shook, and someone was yelling in his audio receptors. He lifted his bleary optics to processes Arcee above him.

"—tta hold on! Stick it out, Topspin, he's going to be all right! You hear me? Ratchet's not going to let him die! Focus! Focus on me! I know it hurts, but you have to be strong!"

A tormented cry surged from his throat, cracking in passion. "He's dead! He's dead! He's already dead, I can't—!"

"Yes you CAN!" Arcee snapped. For such a frail femme, she shook him so hard he thought his head would snap off. "Listen to me—Look at me! Listen!" Her fingers dug behind his audio receptors, jerking his face up to look at her fevered optics. "Ratchet's got him back online! You hear me? Twin Twist is back online! He's alive! All right? He's going to be okay, you've got to trust him!"

Trembling so hard he almost could see straight, Topspin looked over, lifting his optics to the sight of Ratchet and Bumblebee lifting Twin Twist's unresponsive form. It gave him a clear vantage of the massive, gaping hole in Twin Twist's back, and smoke still smoldered from the fresh wound that had nearly blasted through all his armor and straight through his spark. If not for his durable body, he WOULD have been gone in one shot. As it was, he still couldn't quite believe his brother's spark was beating—but he could feel the other half of his spark now, his brother, the agonized sputtering and irregular beat as the spark tried to stay online.

As Ratchet laid his twin on the berth, Topspin shoved Arcee away angrily, standing shakily to his peds. He limped over, watching Ratchet taking scans and hooking instruments of healing to Twin Twist, and he muttered to himself, but no more help was forthcoming.

"Why the frag aren't you doing anything?" Topspin roared at Ratchet. The faint connection with his brother quivered in his spark, like a weak flame threatening to blow out in a gust of wind. "You've got to operate on him!"

Ratchet's optics flashed. "I can't operate on him! Not now when he's so weak!"

"You can't just let him waste away!"

"He'll only die if I work now!"

"And he'll exacerbate NOW! The trauma is just going to spread! There's no telling how it will atrophy his neural net!"

Ratchet's hand slashed through the air, the two contending medics nearly nose to nose they were so close. "And if I operate now, his neural net will simply shut down for good! The Tox-En has caused system-wide shutdown on a submicronic level—I can't take that risk, Topspin!"

"And I won't let him DIE!" Topspin howled. He all but collapsed against Ratchet, delirious with the pain of his spark break as he glared up at the CMO. "If you're not going to help him, I'll do it myself!"

Ratchet grabbed his arm, whirling the brash bot around. His hand was so tight on him the vice-like grip could have crushed his armor. "You don't know what you're talking about!" Ratchet snarled at him. His optics cut as he growled harshly, "YOU never finished medical school! You don't have the proper training for an operation like that, and if you try you'll most DEFINITELY kill your own brother!"

Topspin flinched for one instant at the cutting remark before he snapped, "Back to me not finishing med school, right? That's all you ever hound me for! Well, I'll have you know I've saved more mechs in the field than I ever would have if I had finished med school!"

Ratchet's jaw ground as he bit back a sharp remark. First, because he knew this wasn't the fight they needed to have at hand. Second, because Topspin not finishing his medical schooling was much more than him just being a dropout. It was because he had never seen someone with such PROMISE waste it all so much. His natural gift of skill showed in his work—he was a damn good medic in the field, possibly the best. In the field, Topspin was a medical pioneer and the meticulous reporting on his unorthodox methods never failed to impress. One could only be impressed not only at the work the Jumpstarter could do under pressure, but also with the limited capabilities of a standard medical field kit. And, his nasty habit to cut shortcuts. It absolutely drove Ratchet mad that Topspin would sometimes only half-ass his work when he was so bright.

"That's not the problem," Ratchet finally gritted out tightly, striving vainly for once to control his temper. "The problem lies with keeping Twin Twist alive, and your irrational behavior. The spark break is impairing your thoughts, and you are not thinking clearly. Control your hysterics or else I'll have to throw you out of my med bay. Got it?"

Topspin vented tightly several times, the silence that pounded lashing across his audio receptors with every beat of his spark. He didn't want to capitulate to Ratchet's higher knowledge, but if Twin Twist's life depended on it . . . Besides, his hands were shaking too hard to truly be of use to help his twin.

Bitterly, Topspin nodded, feeling helpless, and then, as he stepped back, his leg that had been doused in the lava practically buckled beneath him in pain. Ratchet's servos shot out to steady him, and as the medic finally saw Topspin's wounds, his temper nearly snapped again. He pointed a finger and said with deadly calm,

"Topspin. The berth. NOW."

* * *

><p>It turned out the damage to the Jackhammer's right thruster was superficial. A few welds, hull sealant, tinkering a few wires, and it was back up to speed. If anything, the actually CRASH had done more damage than the initial shot. The force of hitting the ground had mangled the wings and ripped up the hull, so he was busy beating out dents and straightening up the wings when he got the call.<p>

He grinned. "Hey, Babe! Heard you and Jack did real good on your mission!"

She gave a nervous laugh. "Um, yeah. Uh, Wheeljack, we're going to send you a bridge."

He arched a brow as he passed a hand over the Jackhammer's side. "I don't need a bridge, Babe. The Jackhammer is, well . . . JACKED UP, so I've gotta stick around here to get her flight worthy again."

"No, you need to come in. Twin Twist . . . he's been hurt really bad, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack's hands froze at the gravity of her tone. "How hurt?"

There was a pause. Tears stained her voice. "Like, he's dying."

Wheeljack straightened. "Send me that bridge. And Topspin?"

He heard a muffled word or two before Miko said, "His leg's hurt some, but he's fine. It's just his spark. He's all messed up. If Arcee hadn't said anything to him . . ."

The ground bridge blasted open then, and Wheeljack said, "Hang on, Babe, I'm coming through." He was inside the base by the time he had finished the sentence, and he duly noted that Bumblebee and Raf and Jack were gone. He strode up, barely able to look at Twin Twist incapacitated on the medical berth and Topspin so broken next to him. The Jumpstarter wouldn't even look up at him, just kept his face buried in his servos.

Wheeljack fixed Ratchet with a glare. "What's the damage, Doc?"

Ratchet didn't even say anything about the misuse of his name but instead jumped right into the explanation. "Twin Twist has suffered massive trauma to his central neural conduit."

Wheeljack's frown didn't abate. That wasn't good enough. "I've seen your work. I've felt it. You're a maestro."

Ratchet just shook his head. "The Tox-En exposure has caused system-wide shutdown on a sub-micronic level. I can't even begin to operate until Twin Twist regains some strength."

A cold chill settled in Wheeljack's spark when Topspin shifted uncomfortably and a shudder passed through his Wrecking mate. Tox-En. He had seen what that stuff could do. Had seen entire battalions fall offline because of it. And at the rate Topspin was wanting to let himself burn out with his brother, he wasn't going to help Twin Twist's case. This wasn't the first time one of the twins had gotten so hurt that it whiplashed into the other's spark. But usually it was Topspin on the berth from being a suicidal medic.

Miko had Bulkhead in a vice grip. The cat was starting to meow to be let down, but she refused to let him go as her white gaze and Wheeljack's irate one collided. He watched her throat bob as she saw in his optics what he was going to do before he even did it.

_Forgive me this once, Miko. I gotta do it._

Wheeljack turned his glare back to the other bots. "You gonna tell me who did this to him?"

Optimus's severe blue optics cut into him relentlessly. "At the moment I believe it is best to focus our attention on Twin Twist's recovery, rather than revenge."

He heard the warning growl in the Prime's voice. He was daring Wheeljack to disobey his orders and go gallivanting again when they all knew where it had landed him last time. Wheeljack's trigger finger twitched. He knew. And he wasn't going to let it happen again.

His optics flicked to Twin Twist almost still as the dead on the medical berth. His spark twisted. "You do that," he said evenly before turning on his heel.

"Wheeljack," Optimus started to say.

His wings perked. "Not this time, Prime," he muttered. Much as Optimus would wish it otherwise, they both knew he still wasn't officially a part of the team. He was still a loose cannon, perhaps always would be. "I'm not out for revenge, Optimus. Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged. And if the Doc can't save Twin Twist, I'm gonna sure as hell avenge him."

Topspin's helm lifted as he transformed down, driving out of the base with an angry rev of his engine. He started to drive down the road, not sure where he was going to go or how he was going to do this. He had ideas jumping around his processor as he calculated every contingency plan he could even think of, but the main problem was this:

He didn't KNOW who had sucker punched Twin Twist.

As if by the mere thought, he received a ping from Topspin not a few minutes later. "Wheeljack. Where you at?"

He slammed on his brakes on the side of the deserted road, engines idling hot. "What's it matter to you?"

"I know who did it."

"Then give me the name, and I'll be on my way."

"No." Wheeljack rocked on his suspension at his denial. "Not unless we can come with you."

If he had been in bipedal mode, Wheeljack would have narrowed his optics. "We?"

"Miko and me," Topspin said without pause. Wheeljack duly noted he wasn't afraid.

"I might consider you, but tell her she ain't coming with me."

Topspin gave a small, bitter, wry laugh. "That's what she said you'd say. We both go, or you don't get the name."

Wheeljack hissed slightly to himself. Fragging blockheads! Wheeljack wavered for one moment before he revved his engine. "No. Keep the damn name. I'm not putting Miko in danger."

"We have reason to go after him too!" Topspin snapped. "Let's be honest here, Wheeljack. You're only going out for revenge because you're a hot-headed little fragger. You're sour, and you're bitter. He's my BROTHER! My twin! I have more reason to rip out his spark than you do!"

Wheeljack stiffened like he had been attacked. "That so?" he snarled back. "Because you've clearly forgotten, I'll refresh your memory. Bond or no bond, he's my brother too! All the Wreckers were my brothers, and that hasn't ever changed!"

"Then he's Miko's brother too because she's just as much Wrecker as the rest of us. We're going with you, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack's entire body hinged up as he quite effectively had worked himself between a rock and hard place. After several tense moments in which both parties would not back down, Wheeljack finally gritted out, "Fine. If you're already in the Mattock, you know where I am. Come get me. But Miko is COMMANDEERED to the ship!"

* * *

><p>All three of them were crouched in the bushes. Wheeljack was all but steaming under his collar that Miko had stepped foot out of the ship, but it was just reconnaissance for now. She could look. But he would tie her down and pin her under a rock before he let her come with them.<p>

"You know where to find Decepticon mines?" Miko finally said to Wheeljack.

He gave a slight shrug. "I've haven't been sitting on my tin can the whole time I've been on this rock."

Miko watched one of the Vehicons pacing outside of the cave entrance. "Well . . . Shouldn't we be at an Insecticon hive?"

"The bugs are drawn by a single mind," Topspin finally muttered to her. Wheeljack shifted, casting a glance to his partner-in-arms that had been extremely quiet and subversive the entire trip. "Trying to draw just one of them out is nearly impossible."

Wheeljack gave a smirk. "So that's why we're going to make some noise!"

Miko nodded, eyes fevered with passion. "And get the 'Cons to hand over Hardshell."

When Wheeljack started to get up to go storm the place with Topspin, the medic grabbed his arm. "Wait." Wheeljack arched a brow and sank back down as Topspin frowned. "My leg's not fully healed. I've gotta be careful or I'll just strain it right back open in the middle of battle. And while I'm sure you'd do well against so many . . . Why not make this as flawless as possible?"

Wheeljack blinked. "Meaning?"

Topspin paused, and he finally looked down at Miko. Wheeljack's metal hinged up.

"Oh no. NO. We're not doing that."

"Cool your pistons," Topspin said airily as his blazing optics fixated themselves on the small human. She shifted, glancing warily between them both. "Think about it. She can sneak in there and scope around a lot easier than we can."

"Topspin," Wheeljack growled, "NO."

"The 'Cons won't be looking for a human," he continued without pause. "And how many of them do you think are actually taking their job serious?"

"Topspin, I'm going to stuff you into a wood chopper."

Topspin's visor flickered once. "C'mon, Wheeljack. You know this will work. We've got an asset the 'Cons aren't prepared for."

Wheeljack's jaw ground. "Topspin—"

"She's not gonna be in any danger," Topspin stated again. "She can get in, check it out, and get out. We can easily launch the assualt after she's back in the Mattock. And we don't want to risk any more injuries."

Wheeljack's black gaze smoldered at the Wrecker before a small voice finally piped up, "I can do it."

Wheeljack's helm snapped down.

There was steel in Miko's eyes as she looked up at him. "He's right—I'm not going to be in danger. They won't even see me. I swear. I can do this, Wheeljack, I won't be in the actual fight. Besides, I've got my phone! I can record it all, let you guys see exactly how it's set up and where the 'Cons are! It's better than running in blind!"

Topspin gave a shrug. "Flawless plan."

Wheeljack's trigger finger twitched. After an immeasurable amount of time, he finally gritted, "Fine. But if she gets hurt—" and he jabbed a finger into Topspin's chassis, "I'm holding YOU liable, and you don't want to know the hell I'll put you through. And if you get hurt—" and he fixed his wrathful gaze on Miko, "you're gonna be grounded for a month."

Her eyes popped. "A month?"

"Make it two!" he snarled.

With the plan finally in motion, Wheeljack thought his spark would splinter his chassis open the tension clenched around him so much. Topspin returned to the Mattock first, but Wheeljack lingered, watching uneasily as Miko sneaked around the Vehicon patrolling the outside of the cave with ease. Only then did he reluctantly return to the Mattock with Topspin to watch as his human partner, his daughter in all but blood and energon, performed a surveillance scope of the Decepticon mine.

"Only one on the outside, then it's quite all the way in," Miko whispered. The screen was jerked as she walked and/or ran, and then, she lifted it again, pointing it out from behind the rock she hid behind. She zoomed in on a couple Vehicons and swept the phone around to give them a clear view.

"We've got five, maybe six troopers in the main cavern." The phone lifted quickly as she burst, "And two more, keeping an eye on things from the upper floor."

Topspin smirked. "Atta girl. Keep going."

Wheeljack could only scowl, not knowing whether he was angry that she was doing this and it had been Topspin that had talked him into letting her do it, or if he was angry at himself for not believing in Miko that she COULD do it.

"There's another chamber!" Her hushed whisper was accompanied by rapid footsteps as she went around to the other side. As she zoomed in on the stacks of energon, she muttered, "Looks like they're just using it for storage."

"That's it, Miko," Topspin said. She could barely hear his voice through the mouthpiece of the phone. "Get on outta there."

The instant Miko was back in the Mattock, Wheeljack felt a lot better about the entire situation as he and Topspin stormed the place, slaughtering the Vehicons like worthless trinkets. Then, jerry-rigging the transmission to come from the Mattock, they rejoined Miko. Though, Topspin opted to have Wheeljack send the threats as he said Wheeljack was a lot more colorful and mean.

"What is it?" they heard Megatron's voice said irritably.

"Nice operation you've got here, Megatron," Wheeljack said idly, a slight smirk crossing his features as he taunted him. "Though, technically you could say it's under new management."

"Wheeljack," Megatron said back. Wheeljack didn't care that he had figured who he was—a vocal scan could do that easily. "The one who enjoys explosive devices."

"What can I say, chief? I'm uncouth. And right now, I'm sitting on top of one of your big, juicy mining ops."

Wheeljack leaned back in his chair when Megatron came back with, "The loss of one mining op is hardly a blow to the Decepticon cause."

Wheeljack shrugged even though the warlord couldn't see it. "Maybe. But I'm gonna keep on hitting them." Topspin armed the missiles. "One by one. Until you give me what I want."

"And what, pray tell, would THAT be?"

"The Insecticon scum who tried to kill Twin Twist."

A lazy grin spread across his face as he practically FELT Megatron's pause. "Tried? Are you saying the Autobot lives?"

Faintly, they heard, "He is bluffing!"

"Wouldn't bet on it," Wheeljack said cockily.

Megatron's voice came back with, "Then I suppose his twin lives as well?"

Topspin leaned up suddenly, facial features hardening. "Still kicking until Pit freezes over! So here's the deal—We're going to transmit the coordinates to our next target, and if Hardshell cares to meet us there, maybe he can save you from another loss."

Before Topspin could cut the transmission, Wheeljack added, "Oh, and Megatron? Just in case you've ever wondered what three tons of exploding energon sounds like . . ."

Topspin's finger pressed the touch-screen for the missiles, and they left the transmission open for a quick bit longer as the missiles were sent deep into the mouth of the mine. Topspin guided them up and away as the blast rocked the air miles high, and then, they cut the transmission short with their present to Megatron.

Topspin's mouth was set in a grimace. Wheeljack glanced over to him, Miko held in his servos, and asked, "You all right?"

The Wrecker didn't glance at him. "Maybe when it's all over, you can ask me again."

Wheeljack frowned, worried, but then, he felt Miko jerk and shift, hands coming down as she pushed herself back upright. Wheeljack glanced down at her. She had had a long day against Knockout and the small Insecticon in New York, pulled an all nighter, and now it was afternoon again. His seething spark softened.

"Maybe you oughta get some shut-eye," Wheeljack finally grumbled down to her.

She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm okay."

Wheeljack shook his head. "C'mon, Babe, don't be difficult. You're tired, and you need to power down. I'll strap you to my berth if I need to."

She yawned hugely before she could stop herself, but finally, she nodded. "Sure. Okay . . ."

She curled up on his hand, and Wheeljack pulled her closer, resting his hand on his hip and cupping her close to his stomach so she wouldn't roll out of his hand. He watched her, giving a soft vent, and then,

"He's gonna make it, right?"

Topspin still didn't look at him, but Wheeljack could hear the quaver in that small whisper. "No question about it, Rusty," he said as supportive but as nonchalant as possible. "You guys are some of the toughest guys I know. And Ratchet's a great Doc." A slight pause in which Wheeljack could only remember all Ratchet had done for him. "The best."

He took a shuddering vent before he turned the autopilot on, and he let go of the controls as the Mattock flew itself. "We better power down too," he just said roughly. "We'll be there in an hour."

Wheeljack nodded, and he settled back into his seat, noting that Miko had already fallen asleep like she had just flicked a switch. He recharged for the short hour, filled with troubles and worry.

Miko was still asleep when Wheeljack and Topspin woke again, and Topspin took the controls immediately. Wheeljack suspected it was to give him something to do to distract himself. Every now and then, he saw him shift, shoulders hunching as he resisted the urge to rub at his chassis. Wheeljack sympathized silently with the pain.

When Topspin landed the Mattock along the deserted landscape of the northern Rocky Mountains, the jolt jostled Miko, and she jerked away with a gasp.

"I'm up!"

When both bots just sent a glance over her head, Miko was prompted to add, "What's the plan?"

Topspin shook his head, saying, "Look, Miko. If anything happens to us, press this," and he pointed to the glowing blue touch with the three little circles. "I've preset the autopilot to get you back to Prime's base."

"What? No way! We had a deal. You said I could help!"

"And you did!" Wheeljack barked. He stood, dropping her on the dash.

Topspin shook his head, walking off as he muttered, "It ends here."

"This is my fight too!" Miko shouted after them.

"Sorry, Babe," Wheeljack said. He stalked after Topspin. "But I'm not risking what happened last time."

Both bots exited the Jackhammer, and both transformed down, driving up. Wheeljack stopped in front of the entrance of the entrance of the energon mine. Topspin hung back for a wider shot.

"You in there, bug?" Wheeljack yelled out.

The buzz of Insecticon wings was heard, the only acknowledgement as the sound was distorted by the high walls of cliffs around them and the cave. With a shriek, Hardshell jumped from above and Topspin threw himself in reverse.

"Up high!"

A split second later, Wheeljack threw himself in reverse as well, dodging a crushing fist as he transformed up with Topspin. Topspin gritted his dentures as he transformed his servos to his ion cannons, and Wheeljack took two massive strides forward, jumped, and jabbed both peds into Hardshell's chest, sending the both crashing headlong into the rock face. Wheeljack rolled to his feet, reaching for his grenade as Hardshell charged again. Wheeljack took the brunt of the blow, breath whooshing out and losing his grip on his grenade as he went crashing into a boulder.

Topspin unleashed a flurry of shots at the Insecticon, grinding his jaw in frustration as his strongest suit of fighting-his highly accurate shot-was reduced to powerful bullets that merely dinged off the Insecticon's hard shell. Topspin snarled, charging and changing his servos back to hands, using the brass knuckles he hardly ever used to attack. He intercepted the charging 'Con, but Hardshell easily took the blows; when Topspin tried to duck beneath his arm, a massive fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling away. Hardshell lowered his shoulder and plowed into Wheeljack, crushing both the Wrecker and the rock into rubble at the sheer force behind the tackle.

Wheeljack allowed himself to lie limp, feigning unconsciousness to get a close attack on the 'Con, but Hardshell merely snarled, "Thanks to your crippled friend, I am all too familiar with your Wrecker tricks!"

Wheeljack flipped up just in time to avoid a crushing blow from the Insecticon, and Topspin ran up with a yell, jumping on top of Hardshell's back as he dug a hand knife into the wiring of his shoulder. Hardshell screeched.

"And thanks to your pathetic lackeys, I know just how primitive you insects are!"

Topspin fought to keep his hold on the bucking Insecticon, and he jerked the blade across, slicing a jagged path through the wires that gushed energon. Hardshell shrieked, claws reaching up and ripping the Wrecker off of him, flinging him to the side. He looked up just in time to get sliced twice by Wheeljack's katanas and sharply kicked in the face by the agile Wrecker.

Before Hardshell could gather his bearings, Wheeljack ducked and swiped his leg beneath the 'Cons, tripping him over, but the Insecticon stumbled backwards and to his feet. With a flurry of attacks, Wheeljack sent the 'Con on the retreat, Topspin joining in, both managing to keep the insect on the defensive.

"What's the matter?" Wheeljack panted at him, blades fast and furious as little nicks began to show in the Insecticon's shell. "Two on one playing too dirty for you?"

Topspin's face settled into a deep snarl. "He's just not used to fighting a bot that hasn't been doused in Tox-En!"

Hardshell caught Wheeljack's next swing, screeching. "Talk during battle is a sign of weakness!"

He flung away Wheeljack's leading arm, and a solid punch crashed down on Wheeljack's jaw. A swift, fisted backhand slammed beneath Topspin's jaw, sending the bot flying far to the side. He struggled back up, spitting out a glob of energon and his frustration rising that he kept getting thrown out of the fray as quickly as he got in it.

Wheeljack crossed both katanas to block Hardshell's next blow, and the Insecticon's extra appendages shot out, catching the blades before they could do more harm.

"Only when you're too primitive to do two things at once!"

Before Wheeljack knew it, two crushing fists smashed up with the force of a freight train. Wheeljack yelled, the blow knocking him into the sky before he crashed to the ground with a groan, having lost his grip on his katanas somewhere in the mix.

Topspin rushed forward, grabbing the other mandible and ripping hard, tearing it off of the Insecticon's face like his twin had the other, shouting, "Thought I'd make you match!" He traded blows with him for a second, but close combat wasn't his forte—within moments again he received a devastating hit to his shoulder that shocked all the way down his arm before he was snatched up and thrown away.

Wheeljack staggered to his feet, but before he could fully gather his wits, Hardshell had plowed into him again, sending him flying somewhere else. With another groan, he wondered wildly where Topspin was, and he looked up, seeing his grenade only several yards away. With a grit of his teeth, Wheeljack crawled over, ignoring the pulsing pain in his body and snatched it up, yanking out the pin. He turned and threw it at the oncoming Hardshell, but with impressive hand-eye coordination, the Insecticon merely hit the bomb away, sending it straight to—

Wheeljack jolted. "SPIN—!"

His shout was drowned out by an explosion rocking through the air, but before he could see what damage had been done—or if Topspin had even survived the blow—Hardshell was above him again, screeching in triumph, the extra pinchers jabbing down at him. Wheeljack dodged as well as he could, but a foot came out of a blind spot and sent him sprawling backwards. By the time he had staggered back to his peds again, Hardshell had kneed him in the faceplate, jarring his processor, and a hand clamped down on his head. Wheeljack felt the gravity of Earth fade, and then come back full force as he was slammed into the ground. His body spasmed when he felt both of his wing struts crushed by the sheer force of which Hardshell crushed him into the ground.

Hardshell changed from his left to his right, and Wheeljack felt his processor dizzied again when he was lambasted to the unforgiving ground, this time face first. All the breath left his body, and shocks traveled up his limbs, sending warning signals flashing across his fritzing optics.

Claws picked him up by the neck, his head, and then, blinding agony pounded into his chassis, a fist hitting so hard he felt it shock through his entire body. A garbled cry of pain cracked in his vocals as that same crushing blow hit him again, and again, denting his chassis in cruelly, his spark skipping several beats the shock spasmed so much through him. He felt himself thrown. He didn't know where. All he could feel was the powerful hit that sent him flying in another direction, a blow that crushed his chassis inward and inflaming his spark before he hit the ground, skidding and tumbling until he came to a stop, face-flat in the dirt.

Faintly, through his ringing audio receptors, he was sure Miko was screaming his name.


	35. A Murderer's Truth

Trembling, Wheeljack heaved a heavy groan and turned over, each inch of his frame agonizing at the beating he had taken. A low, unearthly growl sounded, and he tried to lift his head to see the Insecticon prowling towards him through staticy optics.

Strength failing at the moment, Wheeljack collapsed back down. He shook, body struggling for function as it recalibrated. He looked up, behind his head to the Mattock sitting idly at the edge of the battlefield.

His spark bled.

_Miko . . . I'm sorry. Go on; go ahead and get out of here, Babe. You'll be all right. I promise . . ._

Wheeljack struggled to lift his arms, to defend himself, but by the time he had had the thought, Hardshell was above him with a raised claw.

"Your spark now belongs to Megatron—!"

The kick of the Mattock's engines interrupted Hardshell's words, and Wheeljack gave a weak, albeit smug smirk from behind his battle mask. Miko had gotten away. There was no way for the 'Con to get her now—

A close range explosion rocked in his audio receptors and heat swamped over him as he heard Hardshell screech. For a second, white-hot ringing filled his audio receptors, and he waited impatiently for his optics to recalibrate. As his hearing slowly returned, he heard the Mattock's engines dim and idle.

Wheeljack pushed himself upright, groaning, and he knocked off a piece of Hardshell's armor. His battle mask retracted as he looked back at the Mattock, and a rueful little smile touched his mouth plates.

"Nice work, Babe."

And then, he heard it—a thunderous rumble of Insecticon wings, slowly becoming louder and louder. He looked across the field of battle, finding Topspin several yards away, face-flat and unmoving.

Wheeljack's legs shook as he got his peds beneath himself, and he staggered over to him, feeling several wires seizing in his right leg. Wheeljack fell on his knees, shaking the Wrecker and duly noting his weak leg that had been ripped open by the blast.

"Spin! Spin, get up! This is no time to be napping!"

The blue and white bot moaned, shifting weakly, and his visor flickered on, a crack running through it and glitching. Wheeljack slapped his face, before discounting it all and forcefully heaving him to his feet.

"C'mon! We've gotta get out of here!" The Insecticon wings were getting louder as he hefted Topspin along, limping as much as he was supporting, and he cast a glance behind his shoulder to see—

Scrap. He bet that was half the entire swarm of Hardshell's little lackeys.

When they got within meters of stagger-hopping/limp-running to the Mattock, the Insecticons open fired at them. Wheeljack ducked beneath a wing and shoved Topspin inside before he hurried after. A couple of bolts shook the Mattock.

Topspin collapsed tiredly in the passenger seat, groaning and nursing his leg that had been torn back open to the burns again. "Thought I told you to hit autopilot," was his candid response, proving that he wasn't horribly hurt. Still, he hissed when he shifted his leg.

Wheeljack flopped down into the pilot seat, thankful to get some weight of his aching leg. Stoutly ignoring the pain shocking up his leading arm, Wheeljack took the controls, saying lightly, "Let's get the hell outta this place."

Still, the takeoff was shaking, the Mattock being a more maneuverable and agile ship than the tough and heavy-hitting Jackhammer. Wheeljack tried to watch his heavy handling of the controls, muttering, "Primus-slagged thing is touchier than Twin Twist drunk off high grade . . ."

The ride was a bit jerky, but when the Insecticons kept pecking at their tailpipes the whole time, Wheeljack narrowed his optics at the rear camera view that showed the massive amounts of Insecticons. There was no way he'd be able to pick them all off. He needed something with a wider blast radius.

The plan formatted into his processor quickly, the only thing he could do. Setting the Mattock on autopilot, Wheeljack got up out of his seat, walking gingerly to—aha! So the twins kept the extra grenades where he kept them!

Miko frowned from across the ship. "I thought you only—"

"Carry one AT A TIME," he stressed with a roll of his optics. He gave a slight shrug as the ladder to the top of the ship dropped down. "Besides, these are Spin and Twist's!"

Wheeljack climbed to the top haltingly, favoring his left side over his ENTIRE right side, so hefting the box of grenades up was a challenging feat, but he managed. The winds whipped at him the moment he stuck his head out of the top hatch, and he flinched when several bullets shot close, one even managing to graze the top of the Mattock.

Well, that wasn't a pretty sight. All those ugly bugs in one massive swarm. He reached for a grenade, about to pull the pin out, when it suddenly occurred to him exactly how little that one measly grenade was going to do to a swarm that size.

_Aw, to Pit with it._

He stuck he grenade back, picked up and threw the entire cache out into the midst of them, took aim, and shot it.

The resulting explosion had Wheeljack ducking back into the Mattock as it shuddered, the turbulence rocking the ship, but the self-destruction of all those Insecticons at once had Wheeljack grinning and running off a high like no other. He plopped down in the driver's seat, grinning over at Miko.

"Welcome to the Wreckers, Babe! You guys did Twin Twist proud!"

Topspin didn't say anything; just shifted uncomfortably and turned his face away. Miko curled up into a ball on the dash, before looking up at him.

"Then why don't I feel any different?"

Honestly, Wheeljack had never even considered it. Miko looked away, ducking so her chin rested on her knees as she looked down at her feet. Wheeljack looked over at Topspin, but the Wrecker refused to meet his optics.

" . . . Spin?"

Topspin flinched before his visor flickered, a visor Wheeljack wished he wasn't wearing so that he could see his optics. "Nothing's changed," he finally whispered. His shoulders shook a moment, and then he shook his head. "Twin Twist's still dying. There's still nothing I can do. He's still slipping away from me . . ."

Wheeljack didn't touch the controls of the Mattock, just let the ship fly itself. Instead, he reached out, gripping Topspin's shoulder. He didn't move. "He's GONNA wake up, Spin."

"You don't know that!" the medic hissed back at him. He shook his head, turning his face away again. "You don't feel his life force slipping away from you . . ."

For once, Wheeljack had nothing to say. He didn't know what to say. Instead, the ride back to the base was a silent one, each wrapped up in their own ruminations, Wheeljack struggling to comprehend why they didn't feel better knowing they had avenged the unjust sucker-punch Twin Twist had suffered.

He didn't think about how his own spark felt.

The Mattock landed outside of the entrance to the silo. All three slowly tromped out that night, Miko dragging her feet she was so tired, both Topspin and Wheeljack limping, Topspin more so than Wheeljack.

It was so silent that Wheeljack's dragging ped scraped and echoed in the silo. Topspin's heavy stagger cut it even more. As expected, they were all there, all looking at them, most likely having congregated at the computer for any contact. Wheeljack held his arm, aware he was leaking, and he could feel the leaks running down his chassis. His leg seized and his ped wouldn't respond correctly—he had taken the brunt of the battle, though Topspin couldn't put any weight on his already-hurt and hurt-again leg. The burns on his protoform had to be agonizing.

Wheeljack staggered a couple more steps before he stopped, but Topspin continued to stumble across the base, moving slowly, but steadily towards his brother. A thin trail of energon followed behind him.

Arcee knelt in front of Miko, putting a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Miko? You okay?"

Wheeljack looked down on them. "She's fine. Babe's a pro at this slag by now—"

"I wasn't asking you!" Arcee snapped harshly. She seemed to catch her tongue, because she flushed slightly and looked away.

Miko shook her head, eyelids heavy with exhaustion and hunger. "I'm fine." She looked up to Ratchet. "How is he?"

Ratchet seemed to hesitate, and the only sound that filled the silence was Topspin's halting steps. "Twin Twist . . . will survive. He may . . . never be fully functional again."

They all paused, looking over as Topspin sat heavily on the floor at Twin Twist's head. A sad, strained smile touched his face as he looked at Bulkhead purring contentedly curled up at his brother's audio receptor.

"Hey now, see? You didn't like the little feline organic, but he sure likes you." His finger reached out, rubbing lightly on the cat's back. Bulkhead purred more. Topspin's throat bobbed. "Hardshell's dead," he rasped quietly to him, but it was so quiet any conversation no matter how quiet could be heard from one end to the other. "I—It wasn't me, Miko did it, our very own Wrecking girl . . . I mean, I didn't really care who killed him, just so long as he was dead, but . . . I mean . . . I thought I was going to feel better, but . . . I don't . . . I—Twist . . ."

His hands stole up to clutch at his twin's audio receptors, and he bowed his head over Twin Twist. Soft sounds of weeping crossed the silo, and Wheeljack winced at the sound.

He shifted, turning away. "I . . . don't want to see them like this."

Arcee glared up at him. "So you're not even going to try to help him?"

Wheeljack shook his head. "Not like I could anyway. Nothing I could do or say at this point could make him feel better."

Arcee seemed to capitulate to that point, and Wheeljack grunted, shuddering at the idea of transforming. "C'mon, Babe. I need to take you home. Mrs. Davis is booting up my comm. link."

"I'll take her home," Arcee replied a little snappishly.

Wheeljack just nodded. "Good. I don't trust myself trying to transform at this point or even driving straight." He bet he wouldn't be able to get past twenty miles an hour at this point.

Arcee's jaw clenched. "I wasn't meaning to be helpful."

Wheeljack vented sharply, glaring down at her before looking up at Ratchet and Optimus. Bumblebee shimmied to the side. "What? You guys think this was my idea? You think I'd HONESTLY take Miko along after what happened last time?" When no answer was forthcoming from them, Wheeljack snorted angrily, and he staggered backwards a step, shaking his head. "You guys got a malfunction or something? When we took on Hardshell I didn't let Miko step foot out of the Mattock and I would have chained her to the driver's seat if she tried. We had the autopilot set to the base if something happened to us. She was safe."

Optimus stepped forward, and though his voice was gentle, it was grave. "Wheeljack, it is not a question of if you kept her safe. It was letting a child go with you—"

"And if I didn't go with Topspin and Miko, they'd BOTH be dead by now," Wheeljack muttered snappishly. His cold optics dug into Optimus, and after a moment, he shook his head. "Frag this, I don't have the energy . . ."

Miko cut in.

"Look, I chose to come myself." All the attention shifted to her. She glared up at them as fiercely as Wheeljack had. "And if they hadn't taken me along, I would have stowed away. And _I _was the one who killed Hardshell! So if I hadn't gone then they would BOTH be dead, Twin Twist too!"

Her voice choked on a hard sob, and she turned her face away, shaking with stifled tears. Wheeljack felt his spark seize in pain. Primus, she had just KILLED a mech! A sickening feeling grew in Wheeljack's chassis. He could still remember his first kill, a mech he hadn't even known, twitching and choking beneath him as Wheeljack struggled to get his blade deep enough into his chassis to offline him.

Miko shouldn't have to deal with something like that. She was still just a kid; they had crossed a line today.

"Take me home, Arcee," Miko finally hiccupped, wiping her eyes. Arcee spared a glance at Wheeljack before she transformed down. Wheeljack watched them both fade from sight, knowing he and Miko had some things to talk about.

He gave a vague jerk towards the ground bridge. "I need a bridge back to the Jackhammer. I won't get that far on foot. I can take care of myself. Besides, the Jackhammer still needs work."

Ratchet opened the ground bridge up, and wordless, they let him limp from the silo. Wheeljack tried to ignore the sounds of Topspin's crying vainly until he was back in the cool air of the forest, the half-rebuilt Jackhammer meeting him.

He stumbled his way into his berth room, taking his medical kit and popping it open on his berth. He took off his dented-in chest, hissing at the pain and relief both when the metal wasn't grinding into his protoform and inflaming his spark.

Wheeljack set to work on himself, repairing his arm first, welding closed the scorched patch and sealing the leak shut. He was so exhausted at this point his servos didn't even shake—every movement seemed sluggish and taxing. Worse was the silence. His every movement seemed overly loud inside the still air of the Jackhammer, and it caused his spark to start every time he heard the sounds carry.

He pushed away his unease. His self-repair systems had worked themselves thin, and now he was feeling the effects. Compound his fatigue with the stress of worrying over Topspin and Twin Twist, he was sure he was going to be jumping at every turn. He just needed some recharge once he got his leaks stopped. That's all.

Steadfastly working, Wheeljack ignored his panicky spark and instead moved on to take all the armor off his right leg, prodding and touching, pulling wires here and there as he determined which ones were afflicting the malfunction in his ped. He found the problem, in his knee, and his foot twitched as he pulled the cinched wires apart from their tangle, double-checked cable integrity, and reset the calibrations. With a wince, he set his ped into all the standard motions, making sure he had full function before he mopped up the energon leaking down his chassis.

The aches and pains in his body made themselves known as he moved, putting away his medical kit and sinking down with a quiet groan on his berth. Damn, he hurt. He stretched, feeling ligaments pop and strain deliciously before he relaxed back down on the berth for his recharge, but . . . he couldn't power down just yet . . .

Wheeljack shifted uncomfortably, feeling the shadows pressing in around him. Hardshell's deep growl echoed in his processor, and he clenched his fists. That close. Again, that CLOSE he had come to death. He somehow managed to love to tempt fate, and it was getting riskier and riskier the more the days went. It was disturbing. Pit, he had even hurt Arcee again—scared her, because she was scared to lose another partner, and he promised he wasn't going to do that to her.

An unsteady vent filtered slowly from his fans. And Miko. She killed a mech. She killed him—Pit, she KILLED him! That made Wheeljack the sickest, to know he had inadvertently pushed her that far, pushed her to the point that she had had to step in and save them and mutilate her own innocence to save him from his own mistakes.

His dim optics flickered in the darkness. His fists tightened until he was sure his fingers would dig holes into his palms. It had been a long time since he had been afraid. It had been so long, he had almost forgotten what it felt like, to have that fear slowly slither in like a snake, curling and suffocating. The weight on his shoulders seemed to grow heavier, crushing, and he moved uncomfortably onto his stomach, little winglets perking stiffly.

That overwhelming trepidation slowly overtook him as he lied on his berth fighting it. His rapidly percolating processor tried to find the source of the fear, but it didn't quite stem from the fear of losing Twin Twist—Ratchet had given him a sketchy bill of health. His survival was accounted for, just not what challenges he could face because of how the Tox-En had been detrimental to his neural conduit.

Was that it? Was it that he was just afraid of how Twin Twist would be affected? Deal with a close brother-in-arms crippled? Would he ever transform again? But no, it wasn't even that. He knew Twin Twist could deal with whatever was thrown his way. He was tough, and he had always taken things in stride. A thin vent shook his body. Hardshell? He had nothing to fear from someone who was dead. He regretted that Miko had to bear the burden of killing him, but there was nothing to be afraid of . . . nothing to be afraid of—

The blast of the ground bridge caused Wheeljack to jerk to his peds with a cannon raised to his doorway. After a moment, he heard the bridge outside close and Arcee to call out, "Wheeljack?"

After a moment of standing so stiffly he thought his spark would rupture it was beating so rapidly, Wheeljack lowered his weapons. He mildly cursed himself. Primus was he jumpy. He took a steady in cycle to still his wired nerves before he cleared his throat and called, "Arcee?"

He heard her come in, and she stepped into the doorway of his berth room. She stood, holding an elbow, looking uncomfortable and halfway between angry and worried. Wheeljack's throat bobbed. He knew what was the matter. After a moment more of silence, Wheeljack couldn't take it anymore—just as he opened his mouth to tell her he was sorry, she said,

"Why'd you have to do it?"

His optics popped. There was no sadness in that voice. Just frustration. She was still angry that he had gone. He stiffened, saying, "Did you honestly think I was going to let Hardshell get away with a cheap shot to the back?" He scowled, turning his face away. "That was low, Arcee, and you know it."

"Isn't revenge even lower?"

Wheeljack winced and hissed. He stepped away from her, turning his back. "Look, you don't understand us."

"I do," she said quietly. She shifted and shook her head. "But . . . I understand now that it's not going to help things."

Wheeljack gave a bitter laugh, planting his hands on his hips. "Yeah?"

She pressed her lips together. "Yes. For one, you won't be heedlessly putting yourself in danger. But—" and her voice faltered and stopped. She looked away from him, softening. "Look. I had my rows with Airachnid. But . . . Optimus was right. It . . . wasn't going to help anything. Tailgate would still be dead, I would still have nightmares of her, nothing would change. And nothing did. But, I am glad I didn't kill her."

Wheeljack gave the bark of a disbelieving laugh, and he turned and pinned her with a sarcastic look. "That so? Mind explaining that one to me?"

Arcee frowned at his cruel tone. His optics jumped unnaturally in the dim lights of the Jackhammer. "Why? First, because it always backfires." She arched a brow, and Wheeljack just scowled, turning away. She stopped and softened again. "Besides. It—It was a foolproof way to let her know that she got to me. That was her entire means for harassing me so much—it was because she KNEW she got to me, and she wanted to exploit that weakness to the fullest. She wanted to know she could break me down, make me break my own Autobot morals." Arcee lifted her chin, jutting it up. "And I wouldn't let her. I grew stronger in myself."

Wheeljack set his jaw, her words hitting a little too close to home. Her luminous optics blinked in the quiet. "All revenge does is beget more revenge. You cause another loss; you commit another crime; you just become a reflection of your enemy, and . . . probably worse."

Wheeljack turned away, scowling to himself. He clenched his fists. "What do you know?" he muttered. "You never actually pulled through with it. I have. I've taken my revenge plenty of times before. Hardshell including."

"And has it made you feel better?"

He hinged up like he had been attacked. He whipped around, right in her face, snapping, "And what do you know? You don't understand anything!"

Arcee blinked, and she just gave a soft sigh, shaking her head. "Wheeljack . . . Has it ever occurred to you to just let it go? Do you HAVE to get revenge on Dreadwing?"

The anger warped his face further. "You kidding me? You've got to be fragging with me!" He threw an angry arm out. "You've seen what that Pit-spawn's done to me! He killed Seaspray! He murdered Bulkhead! He nearly killed me, and he hurt Miko! Do you think I could HONESTLY let that go?"

Arcee pressed her lips together. Then, after a moment, she reached out, touching his chassis tenderly. Her worried optics looked up into his. "Wheeljack . . . This is warrior against warrior. War. This . . . This isn't Crystal City and the slaughter of innocent scientists."

Wheeljack froze. That anger spread like a plague through his chassis with the fear, and he gritted his teeth. His optics glinted as he shoved her away.

"Get out."

Arcee blinked wide, shocked. She started to open her mouth to respond, but he bellowed, "GET OUT! GET OUT, DAMN YOU! _GET OUT!"_

When he took a step towards her, she bolted from the Jackhammer. A second later, he heard the ground bridge open and close again, taking her with it.

With a roar of anger and fear, Wheeljack slammed the door to his berth room shut so hard the door rattled on its hinges. His hands scrabbled at himself, gripping his helm, throwing the rest of his armor off in a frenzy, and he overturned the berth with a loud crash. Shaking, he groaned, clutching his helm and bending over his agonizing spark and sinking to his knees; he hands covered his face, pressing. He rocked, the full source of his fear coming around full face.

He had caused Bulkhead's death. His anger. His rash actions. His lust for revenge. He had taken them out, gotten them so thick into trouble that nothing could save them. He had killed Bulkhead trying to satisfy the dark desires of his own sadistic spark. Miko's pain and that blood were laid on his hands, and no one else's.

He rocked, so guilty he couldn't breathe around his tears.


	36. Talks With Bulkhead

The cold winds of the morning blew salty water like tears on his hood. His tires crunched over the concrete as he slowly drove himself up to the shipping depot before the sunrise. He came to rest in the same place he had fallen when he had watched Bulkhead die.

His engines dimmed and idled. He released a heavy breath. The water lapped happily at the edge of the shipping depot, mocking Wheeljack's weakness. The soft glow of the sunrise began to kiss the blackened skies.

"Hey, Bulk?" he said softly. "I'm sorry. I . . ." The words choked in his articulators. "Yeah . . . I know it doesn't mean much now that I've already gotten you killed, but I thought you might like to hear it." He shifted uncomfortably on his pistons. "It's not like you were the one to carry grudges anyways. You always felt too bad. Said it made you feel sick." He sank on his suspension. "That's what I am, isn't it? Sick. I'm just a sick, wretched bastard. It's even worse that I still want revenge even after I know where it led me. What happened to you. What almost happened to Spin and Miko . . ."

A shaky vent cycled out of him as the sun began to peek its head over the horizon, a little sliver of light. "I don't know what to do anymore, Bulkhead. Everything's messed up. I'm just hurting everyone I love. But it's too late to let go of it now. I've sank my life into this. I can't just turn my back—and I certainly can't just . . . I—Bulk, I—"

The words tangled and stopped again. Wheeljack's alt mode lurched forward a little until his nose jutted over the edge, tempting the water to bring him down as he felt the droplets splash up.

"I don't know how long I can deal with this. All this hatred in my spark. I don't know where to put it. I just . . . don't know how long I can stand the pain, the fear . . ."

Another shudder wreaked through him. _How long am I going to play this game of Dreadwing's? If . . . Arcee was right . . . I'm doing exactly what he wants._ His tires began to slip off the edge of the dock. "I don't know whether to fight or walk away . . ."

With that soft confession, Wheeljack caught himself and pulled backwards some, getting himself on solid land again. After a moment, he couldn't stand being confined in his alt mode, and he transformed up, kneeling, looking down at the waters. His lips quavered.

"Look," he rasped softly, "I'm sorry. I—I know I'm a fragging miss-clock. And everything—everything that's happened is on me. If I hadn't gone out for revenge, you'd still be here. If I hadn't gone out for revenge, I would have never gotten myself or Miko hurt." He winced as he said that. "Yeah, I know . . . It was stupid. I shouldn't have taken her, but I just . . . You didn't see her eyes, Bulkhead . . . You would have caved too."

His emotional whisper tapered off, and his winglets perked. He shivered and shook his head. "She killed Hardshell, Bulk." He shook his head, thickness overtaking his vocalizer. "She—I'm sorry, Bulk, I didn't mean to . . . to corrupt her innocence like that. I was just trying to protect her, I didn't mean for her to have to . . . hurt herself . . . in order to protect us all." He shook his head, kneeling at the waterside as the sun slowly freed itself from the covers of night and began to stretch up into the sky. Color slowly began to spread.

He gave a bitter laugh. "I've really screwed up everything, haven't I? Got you killed because I couldn't let go of what happened to Seaspray. Defiled Miko's innocence because she had to kill to save me. Nearly killed Topspin with my own grenade . . ." He shook his head. "Arcee was right. Revenge does just backfire. But for all I know now, I still want to kill Dreadwing. Heh, isn't that weak of me?"

Wheeljack dropped his helm, looking down at the grenade he carried on his hip. _One grenade, one life._ How long ago had he promised that? Too long. He almost didn't know what it meant anymore. A shudder passed through his systems, and he shook his head, pressing a hand to his aching chassis.

He strained. "It hurts, Bulkhead. By the Pit, it hurts so much . . ."

He bowed his head, resting leaning forward on one hand and the other clutching his breaking spark. With the full weight of the revelations hitting him, he was almost certain he had torn open that spark break again, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He just squeezed his optics shut and trembled, waiting for the wave of pain to abate.

The sun still hung low over the horizon, its glow just touching the edge. With a great effort, Wheeljack lifted his guilty helm and looked over the waters again. He swallowed.

"Hey, Bulk? I'm scared." He gave another weak, flat laugh. "Yeah, me scared. It's been a while since I admitted that, eh?" He shook his head. "I'm terrified out of my processor. I . . . can't face them again. Arcee. Miko. Arcee, because she's right. Primus, she's so right . . . And I hurt her. Real bad, too. It's . . . gonna be hard trying to own up to that, all of my mistakes . . ."

He cursed softly to himself, kneading a hand behind his neck. "Bulk? I owe all these folks too much. I—I can't repay all I owe them. I'm in so much debt my ledger's bleeding red. Optimus, for putting up with me, telling me everything I needed to know and hear and disciplining me like a sparkling even though I never listened. Ratchet, for the countless times he's saved my skin. Arcee, for teaching me the true wisdom of why revenge has just ruined me, and never giving up her faith in me. And Miko, for . . . somehow loving me even with all of my imperfections." He sucked in a vent, body trembling. "And what have I done for them?

"Nothing.

"All I've done is make things difficult."

There was another long pause in the one-sided conversation as the sun started to rise higher. He felt another call from Miko, but ignored it again. He clenched his jaw, shivering.

"I'm terrified. I can't face her again. I can't face her and tell her that I was the one that killed you. Because I was selfish and wanted revenge—I can't tell her that it was me that got you killed." His hands tightened into fists, and he shook his head, gritting out, "Pit, Bulk, I can't do it! I can't—But I know I can't keep that a secret. It's too big, she'd find out anyways. But I just . . . can't bear to look her in the eyes and tell her that I was the one that killed her best friend, the father she never had."

His whisper broke. He blinked back the tears and gave a pathetic laugh. "A-And Bulk, I'm a poor replacement for what you were to her. I can't do the things you did. It's still not enough. I didn't just kill you, I killed a part of her. And the thought of that just consumes me. It breaks my spark. I'd die a thousand cruel deaths to bring you back, buddy. And then some more on top of that. I just—

"If I tell her this . . ." A shudder ran through his body. Wheeljack dropped his helm, optics dancing in fear as he looked at the ground.

"Bulkhead, I couldn't bear the look in her eyes. I couldn't bear seeing the one girl I love more than anything in this world hate me."

Wheeljack sat there in quiet for some time, shivering and winglets perked from the stress. He took steady in cycles to steady his agonizing spark, so eaten up with guilt he couldn't even face the ones he cared about most.

"If she hates you after that, she never really loved you."

Wheeljack jerked, starting as he heard a voice, instinctively thinking it was Bulkhead just because he had been talking to him. Instead, he looked over to see a human at the far edge of the dock next to a red pickup truck, tall, lanky, tanned and old.

Wheeljack just blinked at him for a moment, realizing that he had broken protocol again by letting a human see him. They stared at each other, the human with a startling amount of nonchalance as he leaned against his battered truck as old and weathered as himself. He thought that he would have AT LEAST heard a noisy old clunker like that drive up, but he guessed it must have somehow passed him by. Finally, Wheeljack managed,

"How long have you been standing there?"

The man shrugged a bony shoulder. "Long enough."

Wheeljack vented sharply, pinching his brow. He hadn't banked on spilling his guts to another human besides Mrs. Davis—deliberately OR inadvertently.

"Look, soldier," the man said with that country-twanging accent of his. Wheeljack looked up, noting immediately that the man had pegged him as a solider—he must have been one at some point in his life too. "Hold them when they're here, love them when they're gone. Not much more you can do but keep living each day."

Wheeljack shook his head. He lifted his head, looking out over the waters. "Right," he said gruffly. "But how am I supposed to right a wrong?"

"You can't if it's already been done." The man reached in his shirt pocket, pulling out a match and a cigarette. He struck the match on the bottom of his boot and lit the cigar. He waved the flame away and tossed the match on the ground. He took several puffs to light it to his liking. The smoke swirled around him, adding to the mystic that shrouded him. "You make mistakes. You learn from them. You move on."

Wheeljack rumbled slightly. "I don't want to forget."

"I didn't say that." Even though they were a good distance away from each other, the man didn't walk forward and Wheeljack didn't move towards him. It wasn't out of fear—the man was completely at ease. Maybe it was just because it was so quiet on that shipping depot that they didn't feel the need to raise their voices. "I said you move on. You never stop remembering."

The former Wrecker just let out a conflicted vent of air, passing a hand over his helm. He made it sound so simple.

"And if she's truly your loving little girl, it won't affect her love for you. If anything, it'll just make her love you more."

Wheeljack looked up. Steel brown eyes blinked at him inside a face wreathed in coarse wrinkles. Wheeljack grunted.

"How old are you, chief?"

"72 and still kicking."

Wheeljack gave him a slight smirk. "I've lived for millennia, chief, and I daresay you're a helluva lot more wise than I've ever gotten."

The human puffed in and blew a lazy smoke ring. "Guess we humans got a little something after all."

He gave a raspy laugh, and a fleeting, rueful smile touched Wheeljack's mouth plates before it fell away. Really, the difference, he thought, was that their race just was much more obstinate than the humans. Cybertronians could easily hold a grudge for ten of a human's lifetimes. Wheeljack glanced over at the mysterious human, blue optics squinting at him. The smoke around him and his standing in the shadows seemed to make his figure fade in and out of existence, as intangible as a wraith.

"Who are you?"

The old man just chewed on the edge of his cigarette. "Just doing my job," he said ambiguously. He turned, opening the door of the truck that squeaked rather painfully on Wheeljack's audio receptors.

Wheeljack frowned. "I'm pretty sure your job's not to be going around fixing broken sparks."

The human didn't respond, but went ahead and started up the rickety pickup that sputtered and coughed, blowing out billows of black smoke through its exhaust pipe as its engine growled to life loudly. Wheeljack transformed back down before any others saw him, and he cut off the truck before the man could leave.

"You can't tell anyone about me, chief."

He flicked some ash out the window before grunting. "Sure thing. Besides, it ain't like you're going to ever see me again."

If he had been in his bipedal mode still, Wheeljack would have smirked. "Hey, you never know."

The old man just grunted again. "Trust me. I know . . ."

With that, the old man swerved his little pickup truck around him and went down the docks. Wheeljack watched him go a moment, popping and rumbling engine trailing smoke all the way, and he scoffed at himself—HOW had the human managed to sneak up on him in a noisy thing like that?

Wheeljack headed off in the other direction, but he barely got anywhere before he realized he hadn't even told the man thanks for bolstering his courage. Wheeljack turned around, and he gunned it to the only left-hand turn the man would have had to make, calling out, "Hey! Chief!"

He whirled around the corner, shouting, "Hey chief, tha—"

The word died in his articulators. There wasn't a soul in sight. He didn't hear the noisy engine popping, he didn't see the smoke pouring from the truck's exhaust pipe, he didn't even SEE the truck even though this was the only way he could have possibly gone. Wheeljack frowned to himself at the almost supernatural disappearance of the old man, slowly turning himself around to go back to Jasper to pick Miko up and take her to the base.

What a strange little bit of events.

* * *

><p>"Why were you ignoring my phone calls?"<p>

She didn't really say it accusingly—more . . . concerned. Wheeljack tightened his seatbelt around her, waving her off.

"Just had a lot on my processor, that's all. Needed some time to think."

She was plucking a melancholy sounding song on her guitar as they drove out on the barren highway towards the base. After a moment, he said, "New song?"

She nodded, little pink pigtails bobbing. "Yeah . . . I don't know it all yet though."

Wheeljack gave a noncommittal noise. After a pause, he asked, "Can I talk to you about something serious?"

Miko blinked and looked up, but then, nodded a little hesitatingly. "Okay." When he veered off the road, Miko stopped playing and looked up, sitting up. "Where we going?"

"I just thought it would be better to talk face to face," Wheeljack explained. Miko just grunted in response, and Wheeljack drove out over the sands, the days of March already heating to hot temperatures.

When they were a safe distance away, Wheeljack let Miko out and transformed up, kneeling in front of her. She looked up, squinting past the sun at him. "So?"

Wheeljack rested his arm on his bent knee, venting softly. "Miko, you killed Hardshell."

She shifted. "Yeah?"

He bent over a little to get a better look at her, resting his weight on his knuckles. "How you feeling, Babe?"

Her brows puckered, and she dropped her head. "Well, I dunno. Fine, I guess."

Wheeljack grumbled slightly, and frustration rose in him at her lack of emotional response. But, wouldn't it be better if she wasn't feeling anything over it? The regret? The fear? He was worried that she felt no shame over the kill but . . . he was also glad it wasn't hurting her so much.

"Miko," he finally said, "when I made my first kill, it haunted me." He vented, rocking back on his suspension. "He was a 'Con. Didn't know the mech, didn't know anything about him. But . . . I can still see his face. He had a split over his left optic, and the energon leaked down his cheek and in his optic, pinching his face when he squinted. He was terrified. I was that close, that personal with him, like I could read his entire life in his eyes." Wheeljack shook his head, looking away. "It was a clumsy attack by me. I came in on the wrong angle, and I couldn't get my blade in deep enough to offline him. I had to pin him down, shove as hard as I could to get it in deep enough, feel his energon on me, feel his struggle."

Wheeljack paused. He shook his head and looked back up to Miko. "Granted, you're first kill wasn't that traumatic. Just a blast and he was gone. You didn't even see his body. But still, killing . . . it isn't something to be taken lightly. When you kill someone else, it's like . . . killing a part of yourself. You're humanity, y'know? So I just . . . wanted to make sure you were all right."

Miko gave another little shrug, shuffling her feet a little. "Well, I mean . . . I feel fine, Jackie. I'm all right." She gave a weak laugh. "He was just a bug anyways. A really big, metal, overgrown one."

Wheeljack frowned. "Miko? Y'know what that's called?"

"What?"

"Objectifying the enemy." At her puzzled face, Wheeljack gave a slight shrug. "That's what the psychologists and scrap call it. You take away the sentience of the bot and just think of him as a thing, so it's easier to kill him. Like Hardshell—he's an Insecticon, so he has the shape of a bug, and you're used to killing bugs cause they don't think. So you thought of Hardshell in the same way so it wouldn't bother you. The only difference is it took a lot bigger shoe to squish him."

Their lips twitched a moment at the small joke, but Miko's smile faded as she looked back at the ground. Finally, after a moment, she stubbed a toe through the sand, muttering, "Well . . . I guess . . . But, he really was just a bug. I didn't hear him talk or anything . . . I mean, I know I'm supposed to not kill! And I'm supposed to feel bad, I just . . . don't. I mean . . . He was going to hurt you. So I had to stop him. And he really was just a bug . . ."

Wheeljack grunted, reaching over and chucking her chin gently. "All right then. I just wanted to be sure, y'know? Didn't want you as messed up as I got over it."

Miko nodded. She looked up, brows pinched as she asked, "Wheeljack? How did you deal with it?"

He cycled a slow vent out, sighing as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Well . . . You just kinda learned to deal with it. It was either you shot, or get shot. Eventually, it almost became instinct to pull the trigger, and you just didn't think about it." He paused, shaking his head. "Either way, these were guys that were going to slaughter you out of hatred and without any mercy because the majority of the Decepticons were the mechs that had come from the gladiator pits. They didn't have a sense of morals at that point." He snorted a bitter laugh, muttering, "Sometimes I think the Autobots were the cause of the war . . ."

Miko looked up at him in surprise. "What do you mean? I thought Megatron started the war!"

Wheeljack vented a sigh, leaning up and stretching his neck. "He did. But when you think about it, it wasn't for horrible reasons. He was a gladiator—he didn't want to be one. He wanted to be an equal. Heard he had a tongue like silver." Wheeljack shook his head. "I'm not saying that the Autobots were the cause of the war, sides weren't named until after it started, but . . . The high class. For leaving the lower classes to rot and die in the gladiator pits. Or, more directly, the council. Never was a fan of politics. Always thought they were corrupt. And they always refused to change things. Even with the minor skirmishes of uprising, they turned a blind optic to the problems beneath the surface."

Wheeljack shifted, giving a small laugh of disbelief. "It was no wonder the 'Cons started the war. I can't think about living my life as a slave or a gladiator, just kill after kill to keep myself alive, and for what? To kill again. For entertainment." His optics darkened a shade. "And the council refused them rights. So it was plain that they should just rise up. Sure, we had the Elite Guard, but no one else of the high class really knew how to fight. Civilians. The gladiators far outnumbered security and the Elite Guard, so they easily overpowered us. We had to teach bots from scratch—the 'Cons were already masterminds of the art of killing without having to deal with the morals we Autobots had. So many people were slaughtered so easily, just like the 'Cons had anticipated with that shrewd Soundwave on their side."

A pregnant silence settled between them.

"Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever thought about being on the 'Con side?"

"Once or twice."

She paused uncomfortably at his truthful answer. "Well, I'm glad you didn't."

Wheeljack grinned affectionately at her, chucking her chin again to hide the unrest he felt at the question. "Thought about it until I realized that they're all sniveling cowards and murderers."

They laughed softly together for a moment before Miko shifted. "Hey, Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we go see Bulkhead's grave?"

His spark deflated. "Sure thing, Babe."

He transformed down, limbs falling and compacting into place, and locking down as he opened his door for Miko. She climbed in, and he drove off, saying, "Y'know, Babe? I just came from there."

Her brows arched when she reached into the backseat for her guitar. "Really?"

"Yeah. Lemme tell you a weird story about what happened . . ."

He detailed his experience with the strange old man, leading to a deep discussion on how he could have disappeared so quickly. The man turned from a ghost, to an angel, to a demon, to a superhero and a super villain, to an experiment, and finally to a spy of the Decepticons ground bridged away and taking his Cybertronian partner with him.

In short, they ended up roaring with laughter and the ride was short until they arrived at the shipping depot. Wheeljack drove in, utilizing a hologram for cover from the workers, but it wasn't long before they were stopped by a man. He came up, and Wheeljack rolled down the window.

"This is a working zone. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave the premises."

Wheeljack jerked a thumb to Miko. "My daughter and I lost a good friend out this way. We just wanted to visit where he died and pay our respects."

That gave the man pause. He frowned, reaching up to mop a sweating brow before saying, "Let me ask the foreman." A short exchange later, and he nodded. "Go ahead. He just says not to stay too long."

Wheeljack nodded. "Appreciated."

He drove carefully through the shipping depot, avoiding the workers and machines as they worked, and he brought his wheels to a stop at the edge of the quay where Bulkhead had died.

They sat for a moment, not saying anything. Miko's hand tightened until her knuckles bleached white against the neck of her guitar. She opened his door, stepping out, and she climbed up on Wheeljack's hood, holding her guitar tightly in her knuckles. Wheeljack rolled down the windows, a little uncomfortably hot with the sun beating down on them. After a minute or two, she whispered, "Hi, Bulk."

There was a pause, before she gave a little laugh. "You're missing out on a lot. Jackie's taking real good care of me, I promise. Sometimes, I wonder if I'd even be here without him, so . . . It's all good. My music library's expanded. I'm getting into heavy metal as well as speed. I like the ballads too." The sounds of the workers around them and their machinery overtook her voice for a second as she stopped. She wiggled her toes. "Um, I adopted a cat. He was getting mauled by a coyote, so I kicked the mutt right in the teeth! And um, I named him after you, if that's all right. I don't think you'd mind. You'd like him. He's warm and fluffy and likes to cuddle. He's really sweet. Sometimes I think he could even get under Ratchet's armor.

"Topspin and Twin Twist are here. Yeah, they really came. But . . . Um, we got into some trouble. We were looking for these Iacon artifacts, and Twist was shot in the back by Hardshell. He's alive, though. I bet he's going to wake up any day now. Even though Spin and Ratch fight worse than me and Jack."

Wheeljack's hologram leaned back in his seat. He rested an arm on the door, leaning, letting his hand tangle in his hair. Miko gave a little shrug, saying, "I killed him—Hardshell, I mean. It's okay. Wheeljack's already talked to me about it. I'm good." She paused. She pulled nervously on her ponytail. "Well, Jack and I are dating. Can you believe that?" She shook her head snorting softly to herself.

"Actually, he's taking me to prom." Her fingers patted the top of Wheeljack's hood, letting him know as well that this message was for him. Swallowing his embroiled emotions, Wheeljack looked up to where she had her back to him, looking out over the waters. "Yeah. It's weird, I guess . . . but I kinda like it. Even weirder. I asked him why he asked me so early—it's only March, you know, he had over a month—and he just said that he wanted to make sure none of the other guys got to me first."

A sad smile tipped Wheeljack's lips. Sly dog. That was a good move with a good line. The only thing that gave the situation a melancholy feel was who she was talking to. Miko gave another little shrug. "So yeah. There's that too. That's the most of it. Oh, and um . . . I'm not worried about my dad anymore. Jackie helped me realize that . . . that he was all the father I needed." Her head dipped. "You too," she rasped. "I'll never forget you."

An uneven shudder filtered through the Lancia. He turned his face away from her, looking out over the quay, watching the machinery at work.

Miko shifted on him, saying suddenly, "Dreadwing's still alive. I— . . . I don't know. I thought I wanted to get revenge. But now I'm not so sure. Now . . . I really don't think I do. Wheeljack's come too close to dying for it every time, and I don't want that anymore. I just . . . want us to be safe."

She passed her hands nervously over her guitar. "Um . . . I guess I wouldn't be sad if Dreadwing DID die somehow. I don't care who kills him at this point. I just want him dead. That way he can't hurt us anymore." A suspicious sniff, and, "I have a song for you. It's—it's our song; yours, mine, and Jackie's. Cause Dreadwing broke us up, broke us apart, broke our sparks. So, um . . . I wanted to play it for you. Okay?"

Agony pulsed through his spark. The melody was extremely faint since she wasn't hooked to an amp, but he could hear it from being so close to her, and he felt his hatred melt away to despair. Would he ever NOT cry when he heard this song? He didn't think so. His hologram buried both hands into his hair, clenching and tangling, resting his elbows on the steering wheel as he bowed his head, his turmoil destroying him from the inside out.

_Primus . . . take it all away . . . please . . ._

His spark was shattering. He could feel it breaking again, splitting down the center, knifing with razor-blade sharpness a path into the darkest and most mutilated crevices of his soul.

_**Murderer.**_

Hearing Miko singing her heart out to Bulkhead, voice ravaged with tears, Wheeljack felt that shameful guilt burn like dry ice. The hologram's palms pressed against his eyes, wetness seeping out. A faint tremble shook through the Lancia as he struggled to hold back his tears.

_I can't . . . I can't tell her, Primus, I can't . . . She'll hate me! And I'm not about to lose the one thing I care about most! I can't do it! I can't! I won't!_

As Miko sang on, Wheeljack fell further into his disgust, his regret, the loathing, the rage that tormented his spark and drew weeping trenches into him. He knew Ratchet—and Topspin—would both be beyond themselves if they knew he had torn his spark fracture open again. But he couldn't stop it. He couldn't stem the torrent of shame and guilt and misery that crashed over him until he felt so sick he couldn't breathe.

_Please, Primus please, take it away . . . please, take it all away . . . I can't bear it . . ._

The burning coals heaped upon his head when Miko sang the final choruses of the song. The tears that dripped on his hood burned through him like acid. The dejected emotions didn't abate, but rather, they rose in force, beating him down, condemning him. They trapped him inside his own torturous prison, leaving him weak and wretched.

_Take it all away . . . Take it away . . . please . . ._

Miko sniffled after she finished the song, scrubbing her eyes. Wheeljack tried to cycle in deep breaths to calm himself, but he honestly found himself calmer by the touch of Miko's fingers on his hood. They sat together quietly for a moment before Miko whispered, "Jackie?"

Something about her tone of voice slashed through the darkness pressing down on him. He looked up, hearing something pleading in her voice, and his hologram stepped out of the car, coming around to sit on the hood with her.

"Yeah? What is it?"

She sat her guitar down, twiddling her thumbs for a moment. "Jackie . . . Starting from now, can we make a promise?"

His brows puckered. "Sure, Babe. What is it?"

She bunched her legs up and looked up at his hologram. "Let's . . . let's just be honest. Can you just promise me that . . . no matter what happens . . . We'll always be there for each other? Like . . . Promise me, that no matter how long you live, you'll always remember me."

His throat worked. His hologram moved closer until he was a hairsbreadth away, so close he shimmered. "I promise, Miko. I'll always remember you, no matter what."

She bit her lip. Hot tears beaded in her eyes as she shook her head. "I mean . . . I know you guys can die any day, but . . . I'm just a human. You guys live for millennia. I'm gonna die before you blink and then . . . after so many years . . . You won't just forget about me, will you?"

Wheeljack's throat seized. Human mortality. He hadn't even let it cross his processor how quickly she would be gone. How many years did she have left? 70? 80, if she took extremely good care of herself? She wouldn't even live a vorn longer. Fear gripped him. That was too short. Oh Primus, that was too short, and he couldn't bear watching her waste away and wither in her older years, lose that veracity he held so dear about her—

But she didn't want to hear that. She knew that. Instead, stifling all the fear and sadness that clenched him, Wheeljack just nodded again. "Yeah," he rasped, "I promise, Babe. I won't ever forget you. I don't care what happens—I don't care if it's a hundred thousand millennia, or if my processor is tampered with, or—I'm not going to forget you. I promise. You'll always be my little girl."

She sniffed, scrubbing her eyes free of the tears before looking up at him. "Thanks." She reached up, but she caught herself at the last minute. There was a heavy pause, and her forefinger just barely brushed where his chest would have been. It passed through, and the hologram flickered.

She sighed and turned, bunching up into a ball as she stared out over the lapping waters again. "Sometimes I wish that hologram was real," she said quietly. She gave a little laugh. "It'd make it a lot easier to hug you."

He nodded. "Yeah . . ."

Miko pulled her ponytail nervously. "Think we could make a grave for him? You know, like we did for Cliffjumper?"

Wheeljack cycled in a steady breath. "Yeah, I'm sure we could . . ." And then, his mouth kept moving even though he wasn't sure his processor was keeping up. "Besides, he's got the best grave marker right here."

"What?"

His hologram nodded. "Yeah. Right here." He pointed out to the horizon. "See that horizon line? I was here this morning, watching the sun rise. Most Primus-blessed beautiful thing I've seen, Babe. The sun rising each day for him."

She paused. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes. "Really?"  
>"Really."<p>

Miko's brows kinked a little, and she looked out over the waters critically. "I think I'd like to see that."

"Sure. Whenever you want." He instinctively reached to touch her shoulder, and then, he stopped, realizing he wasn't a material form. Then, he blinked, a slow idea coming to fruition in his cracked-up processor.

"Hey, Babe . . . What if I created a tangible hologram?"

Miko blinked and looked up at him in shock. "Like . . . a touchable one?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding briskly, processor already beginning to percolate rapidly. "You said it yourself—you wanted to touch me. So, what if I actually made one? I bet I could do it. Might be a bit difficult to find the right materials, but I'm sure I could pull it off. I've made bigger feats of engineering than that."

Miko bit her lip, trying to hide a smile of excitement as she said, "That sounds awesome! You should do it!"

Wheeljack finally gave a grin. "I think I will. It'll give my processor something to distract itself with and my hands something to do. Ready to head to base? We need to go see if Twist's woke up yet."

Miko nodded and jumped up and climbed into the passenger seat again. Wheeljack hid his unrest about keeping the truth concerning Bulkhead's death from her, but he knew it was for the better. There was no need to exploit his betrayal to her. It was just . . . better to keep it to himself . . .

* * *

><p>Twin Twist hadn't woken up yet. He enjoyed their company though, though he noticed Wheeljack was distant. Wheeljack distracted his thoughts by mapping out how he would create a tangible hologram. Arcee didn't talk to him—he didn't talk to her. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her after the fool he had made of himself the night before. Even so, thinking of her words was like pouring hot lead into an open wound.<p>

That night, Wheeljack lied on his berth, staring at the ceiling. He had finished repairs of the Jackhammer and moved it to the top of the silo again. Yet . . . he couldn't recharge. His troubled thoughts kept him awake again, and he vented stiffly, struggling a losing war within himself.

Was she . . . right? Was he really taking it all too personal? Just because of Crystal City? His body hinged up like he had been attacked. In a flash, he felt the shaking of the ground beneath his peds, the terror that had filled his spark sink its claws into him. No, she didn't know what she was talking about. She didn't know what it was like to run blindly through the smoke and gunfire, feel the glass shatter and fall over her, see the bots mutilated and dead in the streets, rivers of bright blue energon, so many running and getting shot dead, slaughter at its worst.

He clenched his servos. There were some things a bot would never forget. How beautiful and how depraved it was. Mechs stumbling around blindly, one who had his arm blown off and had looked around for it, and finding it, continued on walking even though he was bleeding out so fast he was dead within a few yards. The feel of soft innards squishing beneath your peds when you ran. The smell of burning mechs. Sparklings screaming. Mothers prostrating themselves over their children. Grown mechs crying for their mothers.

No. Arcee didn't know what she was talking about. She hadn't experienced it, she didn't know how traumatizing it had been . . . Wheeljack set his jaw, fighting himself again as his jaw ticked with the effort of fighting back his embroiled emotions. She didn't understand anything . . . she . . .

His body went slack as he stared almost unseeing at the ceiling. Finally, though he trembled, he reached up to his comm. link, rasping, "Arcee?"

There was a pause over the line. Whether she was waking up or formulating an answer, Wheeljack wasn't sure. "Wheeljack," was all she said.

He sucked in a breath, rubbing a palm to his forehead. "Arcee, I . . . Can I come see you?"

He listened to her silence as she tried to gauge his intent. After a moment, she finally gave a hesitant, "All right. You know where I'm at."

Wheeljack nodded even though she couldn't see him. "Thanks. Be down in a minute."

He left the Jackhammer in a rare hurry, taking the elevator down to the main room of the silo. Topspin, recharging next to the unconscious Twin Twist, woke up and his visor flickered on as Wheeljack passed. He absently patted his shoulder as he passed, and Topspin settled back down.

Wheeljack walked down the halls, and he stopped in front of the door to Arcee's recharge room. After a moment of hesitation, he reached up his servo and knocked. The door whizzed open, and she blinked warily at him.

"Wheeljack."

A tight vent escaped him. He nodded again, avoiding her gaze. "Arcee." They stood awkwardly for a minute until he finally managed, "Can I come in?"

Wordlessly, she stepped aside. Wheeljack walked in and sank down heavily on the edge of her berth, resting his elbows on his knees and his helm in his hands. His spark sputtered a bit irregularly, in so much pain he felt like it would never beat correctly again. Arcee came and sat next to him, waiting.

As though drawn up from the deepest of seas, Wheeljack finally whispered, "I'm sorry." He shook his head, pinching his brow. "I . . . That was uncalled for. I just—You really don't understand Crystal City. Which is good. You shouldn't have to."

He felt her hand steal up to rest on his. He allowed her to lace her fingers through, but he kept his face turned away, unable to face her like this. "You just . . . hit really close to home. Scared me. Made me . . . realize . . ." The words choked. He shook his head rapidly. "Made me realize my worst failing . . ."

A faint shudder rocked down his back struts. Arcee reached to him, trying to turn his face to her. "Wheeljack—"

He shook his head again. "Arcee, I . . . I'm a murderer." He could barely whisper the word past his tight vocals. Arcee scooted closer, taking both his hands that shook. "I—Primus, Arcee, I . . . I . . . I don't think I can ever atone for my sins. I don't deserve you, and I don't deserve Miko. None of you. And I'm afraid that the harder I hold on to you the more you slip out of my fingers . . ."

His hands gripped hers so hard he was afraid he would crush them. Arcee finally turned him to look at her, brows cinched in worry, and she started to say, "Wheeljack, you—"

"Don't say anything!" he interrupted roughly. He trembled with tears, pressing his face into her neck as he drew from her strength. "Don't say anything. Just . . . just . . ."

The words "hold me" died on his glossia. A part of his pride couldn't bring himself to say it, but that was all right. Arcee seemed to understand, because her hold on him tightened, and she pressed a firm, tender kiss to his audio receptor that made him shiver from the tips of his wings to the tips of his toes.

She didn't say anything as he wept quietly into her audio receptors.


	37. A Little About Arcee

Twin Twist hit the floor with a heavy crash that rocketed through the entire base. He groaned.

"THREE steps, Twist? That's all you can manage?"

Wheeljack looked on bemusedly as Twin Twist lifted his optics to the little human in front of him. "Sorry, Miko," he mumbled to her. "My legs still hurt." As if realizing his excuse was as pitiful as it sounded, Twin Twist's body popped and whined as he forced himself to stand again, and he made several disgruntled sounds as his knees and ankles wobbled beneath him, equilibrium loudly whirring as it tried to set him straight.

When he finally situated himself, Miko asked strictly, "What did I tell you?"

Twin Twist gave a defeated sigh. "No excuses."

"Exactly," Miko said with a satisfied nod of her head. "Try again. TEN steps this time!"

Twin Twist groaned, but obediently began to take staggering steps around the base again, pressing on his lower back as he gritted his way through it. "Wheeljack, I hate you."

Wheeljack, standing to the side next to Topspin, snorted and crossed his arms. "Me? What did I ever do to you?"

"You—gave me—this—DRILL SERGEANT!"

Twin Twist puffed the words out with each unsteady step, knees hobbling as he moved slowly around the silo, Miko trotting along like a faithful little puppy. Wheeljack just chuckled at his misery, saying, "Aw, don't give me that scrap. You know you like getting bossed around!"

He growled shortly, weeble-wobbling to the side as he shot back, "Well, at least SOMEONE is giving me some support instead of laughing at my—FRAGGING SCRAP—!"

Another thunderous crash and he groaned on the ground, face down. "Not good enough!" Miko hollered, having only counted nine. Twin Twist gave a half-growl half-groan at her obstinacy. "You have to come back stronger than before!"

Twin Twist stubbornly stayed face flat, groaning at the thought of having to go another round. Thankfully, he was saved by Ratchet.

"Time for a break, Twin Twist."

Wheeljack's frivolous attention suddenly came to as Miko exploded, "A BREAK? You think the 'Cons are going to give Twist a BREAK in the middle of a firefight!"

"If you push a patient too far too fast, you risk exacerbating their injuries."

"But—!"

"Twin Twist needs to rest," Ratchet cut her off strictly, effectively ending the conversation.

Wheeljack arched a brow at Miko as she gave a frustrated growl and began to stomp away angrily, fists knotted at her sides. Bumblebee came flying in from a scouting mission, Raf dropped off at home for homework, and he when he transformed, Miko swatted his leg aside as she stalked by.

"Out of the way!"

Wheeljack blinked at her as she stalked her angry little butt all the way to the lift that would take her to the top of the base. He followed, crossing the room in three strides. She whirled before she got on the lift, glaring at him.

"Go away."

He studied her a moment. After determining how she was feeling, he shook his head.

"Nah. I think I'll tag along with ya, Babe."

She narrowed her eyes. "I want to be alone."

Wheeljack snorted and stepped over her into the lift. He arched a brow. "You coming with?"

Miko growled at him before stepping into the lift with him, and they rode in silence to the top. Wheeljack smirked as Miko all but bolted from the lift and walked out over the top of the silo, trying her best to leave him as far behind as she could. She stopped and sat down at the very edge of the plateau, and following without much worry, Wheeljack planted himself on her right, kicking his legs off the edge and leaning back on his hands.

"So—"

"Shut up."

Only mildly affronted, Wheeljack cast a bemused glance down at her sulky little pout. "What—"

"If you weren't going to let me be alone, then the least you can do is just shut up."

Wheeljack zipped his lips, exaggerating the movement as he tossed the key away. Miko didn't even glance at him, but instead turned her face away. Wheeljack's spark pained a little when he heard her soft crying, but he knew she just needed to let out some steam. Sometimes, he thought she was taking Twin Twist's slow recovery worse than Topspin was. Maybe she was menstruating?

He shook off that uncomfortable thought and instead just touched a finger to her back, rubbing up and down her spin soothingly as she cried. He kept his vow of silence, even when he heard footsteps coming up behind them.

"Miko?"

The little human jumped, scrubbing her eyes quickly and conspicuously as she burst, "Oh! Arcee. I was just . . ."

Miko trailed off uncertainly, and she kinda glanced up to Wheeljack for help, but he just gave a shrug and kicked his feet. She narrowed her eyes at him as Arcee said conversationally, "Aren't we a little close to the edge?"

She gave a little shrug. "Heights don't scare me."

Wheeljack bobbed his head, miming all his movements with huge exaggeration. Miko poked her tongue angrily out at him because he left her to hang with Arcee. Arcee just looked at him funny before fixing her gaze on Miko again.

"Twin Twist is coming along just fine," Arcee reassured her. "Thanks mostly to your efforts. But he needs a friend right now. Not a drill sergeant."

"No offense, but I came up here for some privacy?" She turned away rudely, and Wheeljack arched a brow. His optics silently berated her rudeness, but he also gave a shrug, pointing to himself as if to mock her further. Her nose scrunched angrily.

Arcee took the jibe in stride, saying gently, "I understand what you're going through. And if you ever want someone to talk to—"

"I'm fine!" she snapped. "Okay? I'm not the one Hardshell tried to scrap!" When Wheeljack nudged her back, a silent warning against her tone, she mistook his gesture and muttered, "Besides, Wheeljack's all the mother hen I need."

Before he could stop it, a snort slipped out. Arcee looked at him funny again, used to him running his mouth, and he gestured to Miko. Miko glanced at him. Arcee glanced at Miko.

"Is there a reason he won't talk?"

Miko just shrugged and looked at the ground again. "I told him to shut up."

Arcee looked at him again, and he shrugged too. She rolled her optics before giving a soft vent and looking back down at Miko. "Miko, it's rough when someone you care about gets hurt. Closing yourself off from feeling won't help anyone."

"Well," Miko said angrily, "you would know, wouldn't you?"

Wheeljack winced when she said that. Arcee's optics merely flickered before she finally sat up straighter, managing, "Yes." She turned to look behind them. "I would."

Wheeljack glanced back with Miko to see the grave marker she alluded to. Miko turned back with a guilty expression. "Arcee, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"It's okay," she said with a surprising amount of ease. "He's . . . been on my mind lately. After I lost my first partner, Tailgate, I pushed everyone away. Until Cliffjumper came along."

Miko looked up curiously. "What was he like?"

Wheeljack watched her carefully as she stared into the distance. "Cliff was . . ." and then, her lips twitched up. "Quite the conversationalist."

Wheeljack unzipped his mouth and nudged Miko. "Can I talk now?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperated irritation. "YES! God, sometimes you are SO annoying!"

Wheeljack grinned, quite pleased with himself that he could get under her skin. "So, I'm guessing he talked a lot and drove you up the wall as much as I do?"

Arcee narrowed her optics. "You're worse."

"Ouch! Glad I'm not the sensitive type."

Her cheek twitched. "Sometimes you say the same fragging things he did."

Wheeljack shrugged. "Yeah. But I bet I don't talk half as much as he did."

Arcee snorted, looking away from him. "I don't think anyone could talk as much as Cliffjumper." She shook her head. "The first thing he said to me when we were thrown in the brig was that he was amazed that I actually cared." She scowled. "As if . . ."

Wheeljack smirked. "You still deny it to this day, don't you?"

She bypassed his comment. "Starscream and his lackeys somehow caught Cliffjumper and I when we both were on the same recon mission to find out why the Decepticons were transporting so much energon to Cybertron. He set to trying to torture the information out of us . . ." She paused. She shook her head. "But he was child's play for me after Airachnid. Cliffjumper was just too stupid to really care. He got bored with it."

Wheeljack chuckled, and Arcee just rolled her optics to the heavens in exasperation. Miko turned to her, asking, "But you guys obviously got free, right?"

Arcee canted her helm slightly. "Well, sure, but not yet. Starscream grew frustrated that he couldn't make us give him the code to hack into an encrypted Autobot code. So we were transported to Kaon, taken deep inside. He brought us to . . . Shockwave."

Wheeljack started visibly. He blinked in shock at her, but she didn't meet his gaze. She had never mentioned she had been Shockwave's experiment. His . . . torture victim. Wheeljack felt his joints freezing up at just the THOUGHT of what that one-eyed Pit-spawn had done to him.

Arcee just gave a shrug. "Yeah. He used a cortical psychic patch on me. Ripped the code right from my head. Then yanked the connection free and nearly fried my processor."

Wheeljack winced, and Miko cringed. A faint shudder trailed up his back struts, and his winglets perked. "Yeah? How'd you manage to survive that?"

Miko shifted uncomfortably. "C'mon, you were just playing the whimp, right?"

Arcee gave a small laugh. "Actually, yes, I was. It didn't fry my processor, but . . . it did affect some of my memories." The fleeting smile faded. "A few of them with Tailgate are corrupt. My beginnings with joining up with my femme unit are hazy. I don't remember my first time meeting Optimus anymore." She paused and shook her head. "I can't remember Elita-One. She was my commander, but I can't remember her personality, what she was like. It was like that cortical psychic patch ripped the code away and ripped away half the memories that made me who I was."

Supportively, Wheeljack reached over and touched her shoulder. Her lips twitched a moment before falling flat. "Anyway," she continued, "both Shockwave and Starscream both left me for scrap, and I broke free of my bonds while Cliffjumper talked up a storm, hitting all Starscream's right buttons and buying me some time. Shockwave left, and I easily disabled Starscream, strapping him to my berth." She gave a shrug and a smirk. "He's such a pathetic glitch. We didn't even have to touch him before he spilled the truth. Knocked him out, and, though I was loath to have him along, Cliffjumper and I headed to find the space bridge Shockwave was building."

Miko's eyes widened. "A space bridge?"

Arcee nodded. "Yeah. It was . . . on the way there that Cliffjumper's words hit me pretty hard. I had set my mind to stay on Cybertron, working freelance now that my unit was all gone, but Cliffjumper was trying to persuade me to join up with Optimus with him. I told him he could go on his own, and that after this we would split ways, but . . . He said, 'Whatever you say, partner.'"

Arcee stopped for a moment, and Wheeljack watched with pinched brows as she gathered up her emotions. "No one had called me partner before unless it was Tailgate." She shook her head, taking in a steady in cycle. "I lashed out at him. I snapped that I wasn't his partner, and he . . ." She looked over Miko's head to Wheeljack. "He said exactly what you said a couple months back. 'I know it's rough. I really do.'"

Wheeljack blinked, trying to think back to the moment he had said that. Ah, on the top of the silo. He had been sharpening his katanas. He had nearly forgotten all about that. Arcee looked away again. "I told him he didn't know what he was talking about, but . . . he said Tailgate's name." She scoffed quietly to herself, shaking her helm. "I froze. I knew he had me. He knew it too. And . . . that's what he said to me."

Miko nodded, realizing it even before the femme could bring herself to say it. "Closing yourself off from feeling won't help anyone." She glanced up to Arcee. "Sounds familiar."

"Good advice is good advice."

True to his little Wrecking girl's nature, Miko turned towards Arcee. "So, I gotta know! What happened next?"

Wheeljack leaned back, a warm smile tipping his lips as he watched these two females he cared about so much actually BONDING for the first time. It was quite the miracle to watch.

Arcee laughed quietly. "Well, you wouldn't believe how we handled it. We found Shockwave's space bridge, and we knew he was planning to use it to ambush Optimus and the team before any Autobot reinforcements could get there. We didn't have the ordinance to blow the bridge, so we would have to sabotage the controls. But we couldn't just walk up and ask permission for access."

Miko's brows lifted. "So what did you do?"

Arcee smirked. "So Cliffjumper walked up and asked for permission."

Miko snorted she tried to hard not to laugh, and Wheeljack grinned, shaking his head in amazement. Miko sputtered, "So . . . he just waltzed up and asked for the controls?"

Arcee gave a laugh. "Basically. He kept talking on and on, distracting the Vehicons and giving me the time I needed to sabotage the bridge controls."

Wheeljack arched a brow. "So? How'd you do it?"

She smirked. "Overrode the energon containment protocols."

Wheeljack smirked back. "Clever."

Arcee gave a non-committal sound as she continued, "Well, he bought me just enough time to do some damage before Shockwave showed up. Threw me across the room and he and Cliffjumper began to spar. But, there's only so much damage a mini-bot can do against a bot Shockwave's size. Saved Cliffjumper's aft by blowing the wall above them, burying Shockwave for just long enough to Cliffjumper to scramble away."

Miko's eyes were alight at the prospect of the final climaxing battle. She grinned as she leaned forward. "So? How did you guys escape? How did you get to Earth! Did you kill Shockwave? Did the space bridge blow? Did you steal a 'Con warship?"

Arcee gave a laugh, shaking her head. "No no. You see, that's when Starscream decided to show up again, bringing with him some Vehicons to block our exit. We took cover behind from some of the fallen debris when they open fired, and really, our only way out—as Cliffjumper so tactfully pointed out-was the space bridge that was going to break down in just a few clicks.

"So we ran. We ran right in there, but Shockwave followed us. He stopped us in the middle of the jump, and the space bridge was practically collapsing around us. That first shot Shockwave took as us was a warning. The sound of that seismic cannon ripped through the vortex, whizzing past our audio receptors so close I could feel that chilling shot burn past my audio receptor. He and Cliffjumper traded blows for a minute, but another well-placed shot knocked Cliffjumper out briefly and left me to stand alone against Shockwave."

Miko's jaw was gaping. "Really? What did you do? What happened!"

Arcee smirked, crossing her arms and hiking her brow. "It was one of my finest moments, if I do say so myself." She hiked a challenging brow at Wheeljack who simply cocked his head and waited for the rest of the story. "We squared off, like those cowboys in the westerns. Shockwave shot first, the charge of his gun and then the blast sounding like a gong in my audio receptors. And, at the last second, I dodged, leaning away and lifting my own weapon, and I blasted him right in that one big ugly optic of his." Miko whooped while a rueful smirk crossed her features. "If I wasn't going to go deaf from the sound of Shockwave's gun, I sure did from the hooting Cliffjumper did! You know what his wise-guy comment was?"

Miko grinned. "What?"

Arcee gave a muffled laugh. "Bulls-eye."

Miko snorted with laughter at the bad pun as Wheeljack rolled his optics, but indeed had to admit-that was a shot that would have made any Wrecker proud.

Arcee shook her head, looking out into the distance again, a sort of sad look stealing over her optics now that she had come to the end of her story. "We made it through right before the space bridge collapsed. We landed, right out there, flat on our backs and just breathing after all the excitement. I . . . accepted him as my partner then. And then, he proceeded to talk away my audio receptors while we walked, searching for Optimus."

A heavy silence settled over them as they all looked out at the sun setting in the distance. Finally, Arcee gave a weak laugh. "Funny. At first I thought I would never get used to Cliff's constant chatter. Now . . ." She vented softly, shaking her head. "There's nothing louder to me than the silence."

Wheeljack looked over, gaining a greater insight to the femme he cared about so much. Corrupt memories from suffering a cortical psychic patch, and the real reason she always wanted him to talk. After a moment, Miko reached over and put her hand on Arcee's finger. The femme started, a little surprised at the soft touch, and she smiled at her. After a moment, Arcee's optics softened and her lips quirked at Miko.

Wheeljack smiled too, adding his hand to the mix and looking out over the brittle grounds to the horizon that glowed a stunning orange, burnt and incandescent as the large sun dipped below the horizon. They sat like that for a moment, all of their hands and fingers lacing and locking, intertwining, Miko moving hers so it wouldn't get crushed, and Wheeljack took spark this moment. Just him. Just his girls. Just together.

After a moment, Wheeljack finally asked softly, "So, Arcee . . . If I asked you how you joined up with your femme unit, you wouldn't be able to tell me?"

Arcee's brows puckered. "Not exactly. It's . . . not clear anymore. I think I had always planned on going and training. My home city is Kalis. When the Decepticons invaded, I saw how the Autobots fought to protect us, and I was so impressed that I had to join up on the Autobot side."

Wheeljack cocked his head. "What was your function before the war?"

"A secretary."

Wheeljack smirked. "Now that I can barely believe."

Arcee smiled slightly and shook her head. "Yeah. Believe it. I didn't have an ounce of fighting skill when I entered the Autobot ranks, but I was determined to fight. I didn't want to be behind the scenes, I didn't want to be a medic—I wanted to fight. I wanted to fight for what I believed in and fight for those who had fallen. And . . . somehow I ended up in Elita-One's group of femmes, but I'm not sure how I got there."

Wheeljack frowned. "Do you think you first met Optimus through Elita-One? After all, it was pretty well known that they were spark mates."

"Spark mates?" Miko piped up. She craned her head up, looking up at Wheeljack. "What do you mean?"

Wheeljack puzzled a moment before saying, "It's like they were married."

Miko's jaw dropped. Literally. "You mean . . . Big bad, completely stiff and commander, nearly no emotion Optimus Prime had a wife?"

Wheeljack chuckled at Miko's stunned response. "Sure did. Had a brother too."

If her brown eyes could get any bigger he was sure they were going to fall out of her face. "SERIOUSLY?"

Wheeljack laughed warmly, chucking her chin affectionately. "Sure did. You'd be surprised."

"Seriously!" she exploded again. She laughed. "You can't be kidding me! Where are they now?"

The smiles faltered. "Well, ah . . . As far as we know, Ultra Magnus, his brother, is dead. And as for Elita-One—no one knows."

He looked up to Arcee for confirmation as Miko's happy little bubble popped, and the blue femme looked away. "I feel like I should know," she whispered softly. Wheeljack felt her fingers clenched on his. "I feel like . . . she told me . . . or I should know somehow, like it's something that's just beyond my reach . . . But I can't remember. I could swear it's one of the corrupt files in my processor, but I just . . ."

Wheeljack stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. Miko's hand squeezed her finger. "Can't Ratchet do some brain surgery on you?" Miko asked. "Can't he just fix your memories?"

Arcee shook her head. "No."

Miko's brows puckered and her face dropped. "So . . . Why are you keeping the files if they're too corrupt to fix? Shouldn't you run like a . . . defrag process or something to clean it all out?"

A weak laugh, closer to a soft sob than anything slipped Arcee's lips. "I don't want to. Corrupt or not, they're my memories, and I . . . can't let go of them."

Wheeljack reached over, nudging her face towards him so he could give her an affectionate kiss to her lips. She pressed her helm to his, and amazingly, he didn't hear any sounds of complaint from Miko. "So how many memories were damaged?"

She cycled out a slow breath. "I'm not sure. A good amount, but not detrimental to my well-being. I feel like I'm missing a lot about Tailgate. There are sporadic gaps where I just CAN'T remember, not matter how hard I try, no matter how many times I scrub the memories and repair. They're just . . . corrupt. Gone. My joining with Elita-One's group is messed up. I can't even remember what the commander was like . . . I couldn't remember meeting Optimus, though you're probably right, I most likely met him through Elita-One. Some missions are fuzzy. I can't remember exactly what happened. I don't remember when some of my friends died. And I don't remember who I worked for when I was just a secretary. But for the most part, that was it."

There was a moment of silence in which none of them said anything, and Wheeljack's processor scrambled madly for something to say. She didn't like the silence. He had to say something, right? But he didn't know what to say. He had nothing to say to that. Here he was, wishing he could just rip his memories out, and there she was, wishing more than all the world that she could keep them.

It also occurred to him a second later that he didn't have to speak. He wasn't replacing Cliffjumper.

"That's okay." Both mech and femme looked down on Miko. The small human smiled. "We'll make you more memories! After all, you're not going to forget today."

A weak sound fell from Arcee's lips. She shook her head, a small smile turning up her lips. "No. I'm not."

Wheeljack's spark pulsed with affection. Thank Miko for being able to fill that silence when he couldn't. He pressed his helm to Arcee's again, other hand cupping around Miko as the sun began to dip below the horizon and the darkness of night began to creep around them.

_My girls._

After several minutes, Miko suddenly hopped up. She looked up to Wheeljack. "I'm going to go inside. I . . . want to talk to Twin Twist and Topspin."

Wheeljack gave a light shrug, nudging her. "No need to ask my permission."

Miko smiled, and she jogged off towards the lift. However, halfway there, she turned back to Wheeljack and gave him a thumbs up and a wink. He smirked back as she disappeared inside.

"Arcee, I do believe you finally got clearance to me."

She snorted lightly, rolling her optics. "That's good to know."

Wheeljack grinned and nuzzled his helm to her again. They sat like that, fingers intertwined in the quiet until Arcee spoke.

"Wheeljack . . . I know . . . bad things have happened in the past, but . . . Don't ever forget them. It's . . ." Her breath hitched for a moment. She leaned closer, hands tightening on his. "It's better than not . . . having anything . . ."

His grip tightened. He shook his head. "Arcee . . . You don't know. You don't understand. I've been dragged through hell and back. The things I carry with me . . . If I had the choice, I'd rip them out in a spark beat."

"And I'm telling you you don't want to do that." She wrapped an arm around his neck, taking a sharp breath. "It . . . might be painful, but it reminds you what you're fighting for."

Their interlocked fingers tightened. Wheeljack reached up his free hand to cup her cheek, and he passed his lips over her forehead. She shivered.

"Just . . . never forget, Wheeljack." She tilted her face slightly as he trailed his lips down her cheek. "Remember . . . everything. Memories are precious, and once they're gone, you can't get them back . . . Having someone tampering with your processor is sick . . ."

He pressed a slow kiss to her mouth, soft and warm. Her elbow hooked around his neck, pulling him closer. Their lips parted, leaving her panting for breath. "Wheeljack . . ."

"I'm not gonna forget." He pressed his mouth to hers, falling into the taste of her lips. "I won't forget," he breathed. "I promise."

He kissed her again, nipping her bottom lip and thumb stroking her cheek. Her other arm stole up, locking around his neck, and his other hand cupped her cheek so he held her from both sides. After a moment, the kiss lingered before he parted from her again.

"Hey, Arcee?"

After a moment, she opened her luminous optics to his. "Yeah?"

A mischievous grin split open his faceplates as he tripped the switch to the function long dormant. "Disco ball earrings."

His audio receptors blinked as he spoke, and the soft moment was interrupted by the ridiculous blinking. Arcee stared for an uncomprehending moment, and then, she began to laugh softly, sputtering.

"I . . . can't . . . believe you . . ."

He grinned. "You asked why I was called Blinky, so now you have it!"

As he spoke, his audio receptors blinked in tandem, and she began laughing at the sight, trying so hard not to laugh that tears sparked in her optics. Wheeljack jutted his chin up. "What?" he said mockingly, lights blinking happily. "Looks out of place on a rough warrior like myself? Can you see me walking around like this?"

That tripped her up. She began laughing so hard she wheezed, collapsing into his arms as he grinned down at her, quite content to see her laughing. It looked much better on her, a smile did.

She shook her head, laughter dying down to system hiccups. "Wheeljack . . . I am . . . SO going to kill you! Can't enjoy one fragging moment with you, can I?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "Had to break it somehow. I've gotta get Miko home." He stood, reaching down a hand to help her up. She took the gentlemanly gesture, and he grinned wickedly at her. "Besides," he crooned suggestively. He waggled his brows. "You don't know the OTHER colors they can turn."

She blinked wide. "Uh . . . What?"

Then, he turned the function back off, saying gruffly, "Well, another day then. Babe needs a ride home, so I'll see ya, Doll."

He strode off before she could get a word in edgewise, and it wasn't until the lift began to take him down and close the top that he heard her stammer, "Wait, Wheeljack—WHAT?"

He left her up there, humming quite jauntily to himself as he came towards Twin Twist and Topspin and Miko. He quieted seeing that Twin Twist was powered down, and Topspin smiled and held up Miko.

"Guess you're taking this one home?"

Wheeljack didn't ask what they had talked about. He didn't need to know. Besides, anything Miko could have said to cheer up Topspin that much was good in his book. "Yup. Gotta get her home before curfew or Mrs. Davis will have my head."

"You might need that."

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Don't remind me."

He transformed down, letting Miko plop in his front seat as he pulled out of the silo, whipping so close to Ratchet that he knocked his heel and earned a few choice words as they split. Miko giggled at the expense of the medic's indignation.

"Hey, Jackie?"

"Yeah, Babe?"

She smiled, leaning tiredly into his seat. "This was a good day."

Wheeljack hummed to himself, really . . . feeling the same way. "It was, wasn't it? Twin Twist is finally getting himself back into shape, Topspin's not being so gloomy, had fun picking on the pick-on-uponable Ratchet, and got to spend some time with my girls."

His engine purred and his seatbelt tightened on Miko.

"Yeah. It was a good day."


	38. Paperclip Airplane

**Author's Note:**

**I just want to say thanks again to all of my reviewers! :) You guys are awesome, and glad you're liking the story!**

* * *

><p>"Wheeljack? Are you okay?"<p>

Wheeljack's rear view mirror twitched so he could see Miko. She was idly plucking her guitar strings, and he shifted. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Well . . . I don't know . . ." Her toes tapped. "You've just been . . . weird lately."

"Weird?"

Miko nodded before blushing slightly and pursing her lips. She dropped her head guiltily. "Whatever. Forget I said anything."

Wheeljack's side view mirrors twitched. "Forget it? You brought it up, Babe, finish it out. Weird how?"

She scowled when he pressured her, and she looked out the window, watching the empty landscape whiz by on their way to base. "Well . . . You've been . . . WEIRD. Every time we're alone, you want to go see everyone else."

His mirror twitched again. "Yeah? So how's that weird?"

"Well I don't know!" Miko burst. She slouched in the seat, focusing on her guitar with more intensity than before. "Can't we ever have some alone time anymore?"

Wheeljack fought down a chuckle. "Of course we can. I'm not avoiding you if that's what you're thinking."

She wrinkled her nose. "You're still being weird."

He puffed out a sigh through his vents. "Miko, what is it really?"

She shifted in the seat, somehow slouching down further, so far down her knees hid her face. "You've been weird ever since we went and saw Bulkhead at the dock," she finally said in a rush. "You don't want to talk about him, you get mad at Bulky more often now, and you don't want to hear me play anything . . ." Wheeljack's engine hiccupped. "So . . . Is it something with Bulkhead? Are you all right?"

Wheeljack's in cycles slowed. How to dodge this bullet? Before he could even think on it that long, Miko burst, "Aha! See, I knew it was Bulkhead!"

With a start, Wheeljack realized he had decelerated and given himself away. With an irritated grumble, he muttered futilely, "It's nothing, Babe, don't worry about it."

"Nuh-uh," Miko said, sitting up now with a shake of her head. "You told me to finish it out, so I did! Now it's your turn. What's wrong?"

That sickening feeling clenched his energon tanks. "Miko, please, just let it go."

"No! You've pressured me for answers on things I didn't want to share, so now it's my turn! What's wrong? Are you just missing him?"

He vented. "Yeah. That's it. I just miss him."

Miko narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe that."

Wheeljack grunted. "Well thanks. I feel trusted."

"I do trust you. Just not when you're lying."

He growled shortly, beginning to slow his speed again. "Who said I was lying?"

"I did." Miko pinched her face at him. "It's written all over your face."

"You can't even see my face."

"It's an expression." Her finger tapped on the edge of her guitar. "So? Fess up. What's wrong?"

His engine growled again at her. "I told you already. I miss him. With the twins here, he would have been ecstatic."

"Oh yeah. Blame it on the twins."

He slammed on the brakes, pulling off the side of the road as he snapped, "Well if you don't believe me, then what do YOU think it is?"

Miko huffed, straightening herself in the seat from where her head had whipped back into the seat. "Look. I don't KNOW what you're problem is, but clearly I'm onto something or else you wouldn't be lashing out so much. I've seen Mrs. Davis work with some people when they come over to the house. I can tell you're hiding something."

His engines idled as hot as his temper. Damn her. Damn that Mrs. Davis. Damn it all. "Miko," he finally said tightly, "it's nothing. Drop it."

"But-"

"I said drop it!"

Miko winced back into the seat and dropped her head, submitting beneath him and sitting quietly. Wheeljack vented sharply a moment before he heard Arcee's voice like a little annoying conscience in his processor:

_You don't EVER lose your temper at your human partner, no matter what._

He grumbled. Damn her too.

It took him a moment to suck up his pride, but finally, he muttered, "Look. I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

She pricked his irritation again. "Yes, I am," he persisted, but Miko interrupted again.

"I don't trust you when you're lying."

"I'm not lying!" he snapped again before he could stop it. After a moment of reeling back his temper, Wheeljack finally admitted, "I don't want to talk about it, Miko."

She scowled down at her guitar. "Fine. Then don't. Let's just get to base."

Her venomous response cut across his audio receptors. That guilty feeling began to constrict his chassis. "Miko . . ."

"No. We're not talking about it. Let's just go."

He refused to move. "No. We need to talk."

"Oh so NOW you want to talk?"

Her disrespectful tone pushed him. "Watch your tone."

"You watch yours!"

Wheeljack vented sharply. "Look, I just want to keep one fragging thing to myself. Am I not allowed that?"

Miko sniffed her nose at him. "Was I allowed that when it came to my dad? I felt better after I told you!"

He prickled at her accusing tone. "This is different!"

"And how is this different!"

"I don't want to lose you!"

The words popped out before he could stop them. Miko suddenly sat up, alert, and he felt his suspension sink to the ground beneath her scrutiny.

Damn it.

Miko blinked at him. "What are you talking about?"

Wheeljack shied away, starting to drive forward some. "It's nothing . . ."

"No!" She grabbed the wheel as if to stop him, and he obediently stopped. "What are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere! As much as you annoy me . . . What's wrong?"

"I . . . I . . ."

Before Wheeljack could stumble even more, he got a ping in his communications. "Wheeljack," he heard Ratchet say, "we've got an incoming Cybertronian escape pod. Optimus needs your assistance."

Wheeljack shifted. "Um . . ." Miko was looking at him. Her big brown eyes were worried. His spark sank. "Look, not right now. I'm having a discussion with Miko." He cut the line before Ratchet could harp at him, and he ignored all other tries to communicate with him.

When Wheeljack failed to say anything more, Miko leaned forward, putting her hand on his dash. "Wheeljack . . . What's wrong?"

A foreboding emotion clotted his throat.

_If she hates you after that, she never really loved you._

He was just a random human! If even that! What did he know about how Miko was going to react to the news? Wheeljack felt sick. Finally, he whispered, "Miko . . . I'm sorry."

Miko's brows cinched. Her fingers nervously drummed on the back of her guitar. "What are you talking about?"

"I . . . Miko, I . . ." A tremble ran through his body. "I killed Bulkhead."

She paused. She blinked. "What?"

"Don't make me repeat it!" he rasped. His mirrors twitched away from her. He couldn't look at her. Not now . . . Vents cycled irregularly in his systems.

He heard her laugh. "Wheeljack, that's stupid. What the heck are you thinking that for?"

A frustrated sound rumbled out of him. "Miko, I . . . I was the one that took him out! I was the one that—because I was so selfish—I took him out! I got him killed! I couldn't diffuse the bomb! He died because of ME! It's my fault he's dead, and it's my fault that—that—"

He stopped. He shuddered once more, hunching down close to the ground as he waited for her to lash out at him, waited for that hatred to come . . .

_Primus, I can't deal with this . . ._

After a moment of silence, she finally said, "Wheeljack . . . You're an idiot."

His rearview mirror flicked to her. "What?"

She kicked his dash. "You are—! A royal fucking idiot!" She kicked him again for good measure, and Wheeljack recoiled as if she had done real damage to him. She was angry. He felt his spark sink. He had known it, Primus, he had known it . . .

"I'm sorry," he whispered weakly. He opened the passenger side door to let her out, but she just kicked him again, tears beading in her eyes.

"Stop it! Just stop it! Argh, I can't believe you're being so STUPID!" She kicked him again, and Wheeljack shrank as much as he could.

Miko pinched her brows. She took a breath before squinting her eyes at the dash. "You. Are. An. Idiot."

Finally, he ventured a weak, "I gather . . ."

"You. Think that you. Killed him."

The raw wound pulsed in irritation. "Well I clearly did!"

"Did you plant the bomb?"

His processor stalled, confused. "N-No, but—"

"But nothing!" She kicked him again. "You're an idiot. Dreadwing put the bomb on him. Dreadwing killed him."

His temper flared hot again on the side of the road. "I was the one that brought him out when I knew it was a trap!" he snapped. "I let him get captured! And then, when all it would have taken was to diffuse the bomb—fucking blue wire! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!"

"So?" Her flat response made his processor stall. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "It's not your fault Dreadwing planted the bomb. And you can't fix everything, Wheeljack, so stop trying!" He flinched. "Look, we know that nothing would have stopped you—OR Bulkhead—from trying to avenge Seaspray, so there's no use in trying to take the blame for that. And besides, scrap happens in battle, you know it does! Bulkhead getting captured wasn't your fault. And you can't know everything. It could have been the red wire."

His side view mirrors twitched to her. "How did you know there was a red wire?"

She shrugged. "Didn't. But in the movies, it's always the blue or the red."

Wheeljack slowly processed her words, and then, finally asked, "So . . . you're not mad at me?"

She scowled. She kicked his dash again. "If you keep that up, then YES I'm mad."

The weight that had been pressing on his spark suddenly receded. "You mean . . ."

_I was worried about nothing._

Miko snorted and crossed her arms. "Please. You're such an idiot sometimes. Let's get back to base."

Feeling small and stupid, Wheeljack pulled out onto the road again. Now thoroughly chastised as they drove to the base, Miko muttering all the way about how stupid he was being, he almost missed the red pickup truck that passed by the opposite lane.

His spark jumped. For a split second, he almost slammed on the brakes to see if it really was the chief, but he didn't want to slag off Miko anymore than she already was. He watched the little sputtering red truck disappear in his rearview mirrors, wondering if it really was who he had thought it was . . .

* * *

><p>"What's your story, Smoke? How'd you get here? How many blasters you packing?"<p>

Wheeljack watched idly from the side, arms crossed and optics roving over this newcomer judgmentally.

_Elite Guard. THIS should be good._

To add insult to injury, Smokescreen said uncertainly, "So, these are the life forms we're supposed to protect?" He blinked and glanced back to Ratchet. "Are they ALL like this?"

Wheeljack stiffened. Didn't like his human, eh? And, to get him even MORE slagged off, Ratchet had to add, "Fortunately not."

Heads were going to roll before the end of this day . . .

At least Arcee was with him. She wanted to drill the newbie as hard as he wanted to. So, Wheeljack heard a rather sketchy story from Smokescreen with the rest of them about his unlikely landing on Earth. Wheeljack and Topspin exchanged a glance over Miko's head, brows arching.

_What a newbie._

Then again . . . this could be VERY fun . . .

"That's it!" Smokescreen came to conclusion. "My life's story. Not exactly the glory I envisioned for myself . . . until now!"

Wheeljack almost groaned. It was either going to be fun or absolute hell.

"Being here with Optimus Prime? I knew I was destined for great things! I mean, now that you have help, how hard could it be to end this war?"

Wheeljack opened his mouth to lay into the fool with all his might, but a low growl cut through the conversation. Wheeljack winced slightly.

Oh, scrap. Twin Twist was NOT happy.

The blue and white bot came limping in, optics narrowed to slits as he hobbled threateningly towards Smokescreen. The kid fell silent, optics popping for a moment as he looked at his handicap. "Take a good look, Newbie," Twin Twist growled. "THIS is how hard!"

There was a long beat of silence in which Smokescreen just stared, not sure what to think, and finally, Optimus said, "Smokescreen, I would suggest you take some time to become acclimated to your new surroundings. A tour of the base would be an excellent start."

Miko jumped before anyone else could. "Sure thing!" but a half second later, Twin Twist groaned, leaning against the upper balcony. She made a face—every Wrecker was her Wrecker. "I mean—Jack here offers a very informative tour."

When Smokescreen looked at Jack and Jack looked back with the most uncertain face Wheeljack had ever seen, Wheeljack smirked and stepped forward.

"I got ya covered, Newbie," he said. He jerked a thumb towards the hall. "Let's go."

Smokescreen fell into tentative step with Wheeljack, and Wheeljack caught Optimus's assertive look. He just grinned and winked, letting the Prime think on what THAT could mean.

They didn't talk for the first stretch of hall. Finally, Wheeljack flicked a hand. "Prime's recharge room is back there. Ours are here. Pick an empty one and get cozy."

Smokescreen nodded and said, "Sir."

Wheeljack's faceplates twitched with the urge to smirk. So intimidating the new kid was already calling him "sir" and they were of the same rank? Ohohoho, THIS should be fun!

When he failed to say anything more, Wheeljack stopped so abruptly that Smokescreen almost ran into his back. Wheeljack looked back at him and arched a brow. Smokescreen flushed, and he pointed to one of the rooms. "Guess I'll take—"

"That's Bumblebee's room."

If possible, he flushed more. He gestured to the next. "Then that one?"

"That's mine."

Not true, but it most certainly messed with him even more. Smokescreen shifted his peds and finally said, "Then assign me one."

"Do I look like your sparkbearer?"

He watched Smokescreen's jaw tighten. He tilted his head pointedly to the room opposite of 'Wheeljack's'. "That one?"

Wheeljack gave a careless shrug and continued on. They went about three strides before he stopped again at the door next to 'his' room. Smokescreen again almost ran into him. Wheeljack jerked a thumb. "If I ever catch you in this room, I'll send you to the Pit and back."

"Sir!"

That was Arcee's room. The real reason he hadn't wanted him in the room next to her. Wheeljack continued on, enjoying harassing the new kid. The base opened up to a fork, and Wheeljack jerked his thumb to the right. "Training rooms. The one on the far end is my laboratory, so stay out unless you want to get blown up."

Smokescreen nodded sharply. "Sir!"

Wheeljack moved on, wondering if the kid was taking that seriously or not. It would certainly be interesting . . . He cast a glance behind him. "So? What do you think about the organics?"

Smokescreen looked at him, and finally he said, "Well, they're organics, sir. What am I supposed to think about them?"

Wheeljack narrowed his optics. "I asked you, soldier. Not the other way around."

Smokescreen flushed hotly with embarrassment. "W-Well, they seem all right."

"Don't cushion the truth for me."

Smokescreen nodded and snapped to a salute. "Sir!" Wheeljack almost smirked—he could get used to this. "They seem rather weak, but I'm not one to make assumptions so early. Though the female one seems to be a little . . . annoying."

Wheeljack gave a noncommittal grunt. He moved on, leaving Smokescreen grasping at straws as he tried to keep up. Wheeljack then asked, "And what do you think about Arcee?"

Smokescreen gave a nervous laugh. "Well, she's pretty, but she sure has trust issues."

Wheeljack grunted again. "I trust you to keep your optics elsewhere."

Smokescreen backpedaled so fast Wheeljack thought he would trip over himself. "N-No sir! N-Not like that, I—I would never! I just—I mean, I didn't think—"

"Didn't think what?"

His face was so hot it practically glowed in the dark. "N-Nothing! S-Sorry sir, I-I promise it won't happen again, sir!"

The more this went, the harder it was becoming for Wheeljack to hide his pleased grin. Instead, he just pointed down the hall of the next fork, saying, "Energon stash. You'll get your ration with the rest of us. Routine checkups done by Ratchet."

Not that they were TOO routine, per se. They were usually banged up enough in between battles that Ratchet just fixed them up then, but he bet that Smokescreen would go get a check up because he had said it—and have the WORST check up of his life. Wonder how long it would take him to realize it wasn't necessary?

After a short span of silence, Smokescreen finally tried tentatively, "Uh, sir, I never did get your name—"

Wheeljack whirled on him so suddenly Smokescreen all but ran into him. He narrowed his optics to slits. "You don't like Miko?"

Smokescreen's jaw gaped. "I—I wha—"

"That's MY girl you're talking about," he growled aggressively, making Smokescreen quail and step back. Wheeljack stepped forward, poking his finger into the kid's chest, successfully making him blanch of all color. "If you've got a problem with the female organic, you've got a problem with ME. If she has a problem with you, _I _have a problem with you. Her word around here is the law. If she doesn't like the look of your face, I'll rearrange it until she likes it. Got it?"

Smokescreen's little wings twitched, and he shrank beneath Wheeljack. "Y-Y-Yes s-sir!"

Wheeljack's lips flattened. "I trust you'll treat her with respect and honor. If she's unhappy, I'M unhappy. If she wants ice cream, _I_ want ice cream. If you don't know what ice cream is, you might want to figure it out. After all, I can make your life here VERY miserable, and we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

Smokescreen's optics were wide with intimidation. "N-No, sir!"

Wheeljack suddenly relented again and turned away, bringing him down the hall of relics. "I trust we have an understanding?"

"C-Crystal clear, s-sir."

Wheeljack didn't bother to correct him on his rank.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you guys are replacing me!"<p>

"No one is replacing you, Twin Twist. For one thing, Smokescreen's too green!"

"And once you've got him trained, then what?" Twin Twist spat. "He's in, and I'm a doorstop!"

Miko stood near Twin Twist's helm, Topspin standing beside the sullenly sitting Wrecker. This . . . wasn't what she had expected. He had been doing quite well, but now with the appearance of Smokescreen, he had gotten real depressed . . .

REAL quick.

"Twin Twist," Optimus's comforting voice rang out, "your place among us is not in jeopardy. But there is no dispute that we have long required additional firepower. It is essential that our team learns to work WITH our new recruit—not against him."

Twin Twist snorted on a scoff. "You better hope the kid's blasters are as big as his mouth! Tch, how hard could it be . . ."

Miko jumped when she got a text message, not having expected it. She flipped it open, and then, she puzzled at the message from Wheeljack.

_Ask Smokescreen for a paperclip airplane_

Miko hiked up her brow. The hell? She texted him back:

_What for?_

_ Trust me just do it_

_ I dont want it_

_ Then when he gets it tell him you dont want it_

_ Should i even ask?_

_ Trust me youll catch on quick_

Miko frowned, only half listening to the conversation about super-speed red energon until she heard the new kid's voice again.

"Now you're talking!" Miko looked up quickly as Smokescreen walked in, Wheeljack coming behind him with the smuggest smirk she had ever seen. He winked at her, and she gave him a hesitant look back. When his Wrecking buddies looked to him, he just smirked more deeply and nodded.

_I bet he just harassed the fire out of Smokescreen._

She could only imagine what that poor kid was thinking as he said, "Let's scramble up some 'Con circuits!"

"Given your limited field experience," Optimus told him strictly, "I believe further training is required before you are battle ready."

His optics popped. "Optimus, with all due respect—"

"Furthermore," Optimus interrupted, "we Autobots live on this planet as robots in disguise. You will need to obtain an Earth-based vehicle mode."

"In order to maintain a LOW profile," Arcee stressed with optics narrowed accusingly. "If that's even possible for you."

Smokescreen grinned then. "If you're talking wheels, bring 'em on!"

Miko watched as Wheeljack grunted and stepped forward. "Optimus, I can help teach him a thing or two about battle if you'd like."

Miko didn't miss the way Smokescreen froze, and while she didn't think that it had slipped Optimus by either, Wheeljack WAS the best pick. Optimus nodded. "Smokescreen, Wheeljack will be in charge of your training." An almost wicked grin from the Wrecker. Miko watched uncertainly as Smokescreen seemed to deflate where he stood. "Ratchet, bridge us out!"

So, as Optimus and Arcee and Bumblebee bridged out, that left Topspin with his brother and Wheeljack with Smokescreen, and the kids with Ratchet. It wasn't until the bridge was safely shut and Optimus out of sight that Miko gave the most dramatic sigh of boredom she could muster. Smokescreen's head snapped to her.

"I wish I had a paperclip airplane," she said just loud enough. "I really want one . . . I bet it'd be fun . . ."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Smokescreen's optics flare in no small degree of alarm as he wondered what a paperclip airplane was. He looked helplessly towards Wheeljack, and the Wrecker just gave an unhelpful shrug. Smokescreen gulped.

Still, Ratchet cut in obliviously with, "Jack, I'm going to bridge you and Smokescreen near the highway. He can look for his alt mode there."

Jack hopped down, easily taking up the mantle of the teaching human for Smokescreen as they bridged out. Miko waited until they were safely gone and the bridge closed behind them before she looked to Wheeljack with raised brows.

"Do I EVEN want to know?"

Topspin grinned at Wheeljack's devious look. He nudged his brother. "Don't worry, Twist, I think Wheeljack's set poor Smokey up just fine around here . . ."

When Ratchet gave them a look, Wheeljack laughed and raised his hands in surrender. "Easy, Doc! I didn't do anything to the kid!"

"I'm not sure what your 'ANYTHING' means . . ."

Wheeljack rolled his eyes. "The kid's gonna get along just fine," but he winked at Miko, obviously trying to get some message through to her that she was missing out on. Topspin, however, busted out laughing, and even Twin Twist seemed to perk up a little.

Topspin grinned rakishly beneath his visor. "Miko, next time announce that you're the queen of this joint."

"And demand a throne," Twin Twist added.

Miko blinked at all the conniving Wreckers. Wheeljack was too pleased with himself to have done anything BUT trouble. Topspin and Twin Twist were nearly the same, all looking at her as if she held the keys to the city.

Slowly, the dots were connecting.


	39. That Wasn't Supposed To Happen

**Author's Note:**

**I don't think ANYTHING in this chapter went Wheeljack's way! XD**

* * *

><p>Twin Twist was even further in his depression. He sulked all the time. Miko couldn't cheer him up. Neither could Topspin, or even help. Not even Smokescreen's torture brought a smile to his face.<p>

. . .

Well, it certainly brought one to Wheeljack's!

Miko studied the paper airplane in her hands with a right royal twisted up face. Smokescreen was nervously shuffling his peds. Finally, she crushed the paper airplane with a huge sigh and tossed it over her shoulder, walking away.

"NOT a paperCLIP airplane."

Smokescreen's humiliation had only begun there.

Miko had caught on extremely quickly what Wheeljack had done even if she didn't know how he had done it. Smokescreen called her his queen. She now had a rugged throne with her name in lights above it and was so full of pillows she practically drowned in it. Bulkhead was now a pampered kitty with his own lounge made from a tire fluffed with pillows and blankets. Miko never cleaned the litter box either—that was designated to her new drudge.

She had ice cream and chocolate at her beck and whim. With a wave of her hand, her math homework was done. He doted on her like a faithful puppy who kept glancing over his shoulder at the stolid guard dog. Wheeljack would just shrug his shoulders at the helpless Elite Guard member, and he would share a laugh with Topspin when the boy was turned.

Wreckers: one. Elite Guard: none.

Wheeljack had to admit, Miko milked the situation thoroughly. He was proud of his little Wrecking femme, but he did feel a bit of a twinge of worry. Within a couple more days, he was sure Optimus was going to confront them.

In the meantime, he had a project to get started on.

He punched Ratchet in the shoulder, making the medic frown and glare. "Hey, Doc, wanna help me on my next project?"

Ratchet's face was aghast and a combination of horror and sickness. "Not on your life!"

Wheeljack grinned, shaking his head. "Aw, c'mon, Ratch, it's not gonna be bad! I'm just working on making a holoform!"

Ratchet backed away, raising a brow. "A holoform?"

Wheeljack nodded vigorously. "That's what I've taken to calling it. Not just a hologram, but an actual form! You know, that way I could legitimately wrestle with Miko. C'mon, Doc, you know you want to help."

Ratchet made a disgruntled face, pushing Wheeljack's arm off of his. "No, I do NOT want to help," he said pointedly. "As nice as it is of you to do this for Miko, I'm sure you can figure it out on your own. I, for one, am not going to lose a limb."

A bit put off, Wheeljack muttered, "All right, fine. Be that way . . ." It was then he spied Smokescreen and Bumblebee from across the room, Miko sitting on her throne, shoes and socks off, legs stretched out and hands spread on the arms of her chair. Smokescreen was bent over, optics squinted, thumb and forefinger clutched precariously as he painted her nails. Jack and Raf were sitting on the couch, deep in a game of racing. Bumblebee was alternately watching them or laughing at Smokescreen, not understanding his devotion to the girl.

"This thing is just too small for me to use," Smokescreen was complaining as Wheeljack waltzed over. "Can't I just use a bigger brush?"

Miko hiked up a brow. "Be my guest. But it's gotta be small enough for my toe nails."

At that, Smokescreen had nothing to help him, and he gave a disgruntled groan, struggling to paint her nails a deep purple.

Wheeljack winked at Miko before he reached over and plucked Raf out of his seat. The boy yelped and dropped his controller, prompting Bumblebee to jump and reach his hands beneath him as if he was going to drop the boy. Wheeljack plopped Raf in the palm of his hand and waved off Bumblebee's worried twittering.

"Hey, kid, wanna help me with a project?"

Ratchet looked up sharply from his computers.

Raf pushed up his glasses on his nose, saying uncertainly, "U-Uh . . . W-Well, I don't know. What is it? Will it explode?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "Knowing me, probably." Raf blanched. Wheeljack waved a hand. "No worries, kid. I'm just trying to make a holoform."

Raf frowned as Bumblebee hovered like a worried mother. "What's a holoform?"

"Like a hologram," Wheeljack explained again. "Only tangible."

Raf's eyes widened. Wheeljack almost grinned—he was curious. "Really? Like, so you bots would have a REAL human form?"

"You got it," Wheeljack said, and that grin escaped his mouth plates. "SURE you don't wanna help?"

"No!" Raf burst, face blushing and eyes widening. "I'd love to help! You really want MY help?"

Wheeljack shrugged, walking off with him before Bumblebee could protest. "Sure do! The Doc didn't want to help, and I'll need a human's expertise like yours."

"Wheeljack!" Ratchet roared from the opposite end of the room. "You can't experiment with him around! I couldn't POSSIBLY begin to explain to Optimus why a human was blown to—"

Wheeljack waved his hand nonchalantly as Bumblebee followed him with worry. "No worries, Doc! I won't let him get hurt!"

Ratchet protested more, but he was already around the corner and gone. Raf didn't seem too worried, but he did look up and ask, "How will you know if it's going to blow or not?"

Wheeljack shrugged a shoulder. "I don't. But I'll make sure you're too far back to get hurt."

Bumblebee hovered, dodging back and forth behind him as he said, *Wheeljack, I—I don't think this is a good idea . . .*

He reared back, slightly affronted. "Well of COURSE it's a good idea," Wheeljack said brusquely. "You want to be able to play with Raf, right? Of course you do! Maybe go play some mini golf, or program some computers together, whatever you nerdy little kids do for fun, and that way you'd be the right size."

Bumblebee's vocals whirred in worry. *No, no the idea's fine, it's just . . . Wheeljack, you DO blow up everything you make.*

Wheeljack waved him off as they entered his laboratory. "No worries, Bee! He'll be all right. I'll even let you supervise!"

Wheeljack pulled out his tools, bringing all his junk into sight, and he turned up a spare part and sat Raf on top so the boy could see down on it all. "Check all these toys out, kiddo. Like those?"

Raf's little eyes widened. His boxes had an assortment of numerous different items, break lines, proportioning valves, pistons, tappets, turbo chargers, toric joints, fuel cells, connecting valves, spoilers, halogens and O2 sensors. Break lines had spilled over into the air pumps, and the number of spark plugs was staggering. At the bottom of the boxes, things like flywheels, screws, nuts, bolts, and axels and springs all collected in the clutter. Here and there, a wrench poked its head up. Amongst it all were Cybertronian parts that he had no idea what they were.

"Impressive, huh?"

Raf blinked. He pointed to a part. "What's that?"

Wheeljack waved off the question. "A cosmitron. We won't need that." He shuffled through a box full of different metals for a moment before he gave a shrug and began to talk.

"Now, I'm thinking that if we're going to build this body, it's blueprints would have to line up with my hologram's form." He reached past Raf and to his datapad, pulling up the blueprints he had made in advance. He sat it in front of Raf. "Here you go, kid. You study that. In the meantime, I think I'll rummage around and see what junk I can pull up that would be better for humans and less so for cars."

He did so, muttering to himself and humming with excitement. However, it soon came to his knowledge that he probably needed smaller parts, but he thought he could make do with what he had to make the protoform.

"Um . . . Hey, Wheeljack?"

He glanced up, elbow-deep in spare parts. "Yeah?"

"You do realize you've . . . um . . . WIRED yourself wrong?"

Wheeljack frowned. "I did what?" He dropped the parts, taking one stride to Raf's side and bent down behind him, frowning severely at the diagram. "What do you mean I wired it wrong?" he said defensively.

Raf blushed, but he hopped down to the Cybertronian datapad to point out his findings. "Well, I'm no expert on the human body, but I'm absolutely sure the brain isn't connected to the heart like that."

Wheeljack frowned. "What? Why? Where."

Raf leaned over and pointed. "Here. That's the medulla. It's not connected to the spine, and the heart . . . I don't even know what you were doing with the heart."

Wheeljack grunted. "So? How would you do it?"

Raf took off his glasses, rubbed his face, and put his glasses back on. "Well . . . I'd first study up on human anatomy. Our stomach goes here," and he pointed, "and the kidneys go in the back. For the most part I think the nervous system is right, you've just . . . got us all scrambled up on the inside." Raf paused. He looked up at Wheeljack. "I think we need to hit the library."

Topspin poked his helm in. "Who needs the library when you've got internet?"

* * *

><p>Miko looked up from where her toenails were drying. Smokescreen had gladly moved on to other things, but she craned her neck around, looking around. Arcee walked in, and Miko was prompted to add, "Arcee? Where's Bee and Raf? Are they STILL back with Wheeljack?"<p>

The femme shrugged. "I'm assuming." She rolled her optics. "Boys will be boys. They'll be back there all day."

Twin Twist was limping up. He was headed to the berths in the medical area, so Miko hopped up, hobbling over to him carefully so she didn't smudge Smokescreen's hard-worked-on-toenails. "Twist? Where did Topspin go?"

Twin Twist just scowled. "I don't know. Back with the guys?"

She frowned at his venomous response. She sat down, dangling her legs over the edge. "You wanna head back there?"

He scowled. "No. I'm not a science geek. I'd just slow them down."

She sighed. "Look. You need to stop thinking so down. It's going to turn out fine. I promise."

His lip just snarled. "Don't make promises you can't keep, femme."

Miko narrowed her eyes. "I can keep it. And I will if you keep trying to get better."

He shrugged. "Don't see why." He sat down on the berth, wincing slightly as he stretched his legs. "You guys've got Smokescreen to replace me, so there's no point in me trying to—"

"Smokescreen is NOT replacing you," Miko cut in irritation. "The only one that thinks he's replacing you is YOU. It's your own damn fault you feel so bad!"

Twin Twist narrowed his optics, and before he could make his response, an explosion rocked the silo. Miko winced as she felt the rumble through the floor, and Ratchet had snapped to attention even before the sprinkler system started up.

"WHEELJACK! YOU GLITCHED UP FRAGGING SON OF A SINE FUNCTION! I'M GOING TO TEAR OUT YOUR MANIFOLDS AND BEAT YOU WITH THEM UNTIL THERE'S NOT ONE SYNAPSE FRYING IN YOUR MICRO-CHIP SIZED PROCESSOR IF I FIND RAF IN ANY OTHER CONDITION EXCEPT PERFECT!"

Twin Twist smirked grimly as Ratchet bolted down the halls so fast he was a blur. "Those fraggers are dead."

Miko made a face. "They haven't even BEEN back there that long. How did they already have something to experiment with?"

Twin Twist gave a shrug. "Ain't no telling. Topspin's in trouble. He's got a busted rotary cuff."

Miko winced. "Where is that?"

"His shoulder."

"OW."

Twin Twist shrugged again. "Wheeljack is worse, as expected. His entire arm is blown off."

Miko rolled her eyes. "Great. What about—"

Before she could ask, Bumblebee and Raf skidded into the room, covered in what looked like soot, only it was RED? Raf was coated in the red soot just as bad as Bumblebee, and the scout gave a guilty whir, optics wide. *Ratchet said I have to take Raf home.* It was unsaid that they both needed to clean up. Raf dipped his head.

"I am so in trouble."

* * *

><p>"Twin Twist, you really mustn't allow yourself to decline."<p>

"Yeah, Twist!" Miko chimed in. She leaned against the railing where Twin Twist sat petulantly in the medical area after another checkup. "You've gotta pull yourself outta this funk!"

"What's the use?" he muttered.

Topspin sat next to him, shattered rotary cuff needing surgery today. He put his hand on his shoulder, but Twin Twist knocked him irritably away. "You need to regain your strength," Ratchet persisted. "The time will come when—"

"When what?" Twin Twist barked. He gave a gesture. "When all of you will need an assist? Isn't that what the new guy's for?"

Said 'new guy' had been released from Miko's orders a while ago, having brought her the milkshake she demanded, and had instead raced off in the urge to make things right with the Wreckers. He came back with the Apex Armor, saying, "Hey, Twin Twist, I've been thinking, with your injury and all, you might want to take advantage of the armor I snagged from Starscream." He grinned. "Instant muscle suit!"

Wheeljack, arm getting reattached today, winced and scooted. Wrong thing to say.

"You think I need a CRUTCH?" Twin Twist exploded. He jumped to his feet with sudden alacrity, and he backhanded the armor right out of Smokescreen's hands. It crashed into the computers, and the screens flickered and fizzed, dying with a slow dying beep.

"TWIN TWIST! I NEEDED THAT!"

Miko wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry hearing Ratchet say that, and could only think that Twin Twist had effectively taken Bulkhead's penchant for breaking things. Twin Twist simply growled at Ratchet and shoved Smokescreen aside. "Outta my way, rookie!"

Smokescreen gaped as Twin Twist strode aside. "He can walk!"

Miko leaned over the railing with interest, watching as Twin Twist walked by the best he had ever walked, and her lips twisted up with smug laughter. So jealously against the Elite Guard went a long way, eh?

When he began a set of reps with the lob ball that was frequently used, Smokescreen said chipperly, "Looks like he's fit for duty to me!"

Ratchet grumbled beneath his breath and stomped over, shooing Smokescreen out of his work area and snatching up Wheeljack's arm to reattach it. Miko gave Smokescreen a thumbs up, the only Wrecker not to have a problem with the Elite Guard member.

Raf was grounded. Not only did he misplace some homework and blew a couple tests (translation: A- instead of A+) but what really drove the nail in the coffin was him coming home covered in red soot.

But what REALLY irked Wheeljack was this: obviously, M.E.C.H. was back, and Silas somehow resurrected. With him, had somehow aligned himself with the Decepticons, stolen Project Damocles (which was intriguing on so many levels. A particle beam cannon controlled by a satellite in orbit with pinpoint accuracy. Now THAT was a weapon Wheeljack wouldn't mind getting his servos on and dissecting!). Granted, the interface code was the only thing that would allow the Decepticons to USE it, but that didn't matter.

What MATTERED was he was stuck on a medical berth without an arm and therefore OFF active duty!

"This is all your fault!"

"My fault? It was your idea!"

"Was not!"

"It was too! I told you if you phased it that way, it would only backfire!"

"But if we did it your way, it'd have been like an engine instead of a heart!"

"Technicalities! At least we wouldn't be blown up on a berth while the others get all of the action!"

"Ha! It was your experimenting that got us here in the first place—"

"IF YOU TWO DO NOT SHUT UP I AM GOING TO WELD YOUR ARTICULATORS SHUT!"

Wheeljack and Topspin both shut their mouths, glaring sharp daggers at each other from opposite ends of the medical berths. "Fantastic . . ." Topspin muttered. "Just fragging FANTASTIC . . ."

Wheeljack glared up at Miko when she couldn't contain her giggles. She slunk away, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Wheeljack glanced over at Topspin. "So? Think you can repair me?" When he just received another angry frown, he gave a shrug. "Look, if you could repair me, I could repair you. That way we'd both be ready for duty again."

Topspin pointed to his busted shoulder. "Well, if you could fix THIS, then I would have both hands to fix YOU."

Twin Twist walked up with his slight limp, smirking at them both. "Well well well," he drawled out. "How does it feel to be on the medical berth, boys?"

Both one-armed mechs sneered at him. Twin Twist just gloated above them, not half as incapacitated as they were. "Poor, poor mechs you two are. It's quite sad. It really is."

Wheeljack growled. "Frag off, Twin Twist."

"No no no," Twin Twist said, shaking his head. "You see, all of this humors me greatly, and I find I'm in need of a good laugh. After all, it's not just you two—it's RATCHET too!" He grinned at their sour faces. "After all, Ratchet was too stubborn to help in an experiment like he should have and instead left you to kidnap Raf. And while that was fun, it only gets BETTER since my brother had to stick his not-so-bright nose into things and figures he knows stuff about the human heart that he doesn't and give Wheeljack the most helpful tips. And then YOU, Wheeljack," and he threw his amazed hands out to the blackly glaring Wrecker, "are stupid enough to actually TAKE his advice, and thus this resounds in the most BEAUTIFUL explosion I have ever felt in my life!"

When the two mechs could only brood silently, plotting the other twin's downfall. Twin Twist smirked, either oblivious or uncaring about their unsaid threats. "And so you ALSO manage to get poor Raf in heaps of trouble and get the innocent kid grounded because, again, Wheeljack was stupid enough to let him get too close to an explosion."

Wheeljack cycled a very tense breath. "I might be down one arm, but you're practically lamed. I can still catch you."

Twin Twist shrugged. "I'm not too worried. After all, it was both of you guys' own stupidity that landed you here on the medical berth. I was only there because I was sucker punched in the back and DRENCHED in Tox-En exposure. I only managed to get here after a grueling mission like that, hours and hours of hard work, and then you two manage to screw yourselves up in LESS THAN A NANOCLICK." Twin Twist laughed at their hard luck, shaking his head. "You two never fail to amaze me."

"I'm gonna kill you," Topspin muttered. "I am going to KILL you."

Twin Twist grinned devilishly and shook his head. "Oh? So boring? I'd imagine two mechs of your GENIUS caliber could think of a punishment that wasn't boring and pointless."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics. "Don't tempt me."

Twin Twist just smirked until the dispatch from Optimus distracted him. "Ratchet! We require backup!"

Twin Twist moved across the silo as quickly as he could. "I'm there!"

Ratchet grabbed his arm, holding him back before he could go anywhere. "Can you remotely disable Project Damocles under Agent Fowler's advisement?"

Ratchet gaped. "On a human-based computer network? Without MY backup? Without Rafael?"

Agent Fowler bridged out with Jack and Miko straight into Raf's room so that they could work on disabling Project Damocles. That left Twin Twist antsy as ever as Optimus had requested backup and it wasn't the kind he could give.

"Ratchet, you gotta send me in!"

"So you can be an even easier target?" he snapped. "You have yet to regain your full range of motion!"

"Oh, c'mon! I'm a Wrecker! I've been into battle in ten times worse condition than this! Even the KIDS are in on the action!"

Ratchet gave an eternally frustrated sigh. "Very well, Twin Twist." Topspin and Wheeljack looked up in shock. "You are cleared for duty." Twin Twist hooted at Topspin and Wheeljack's stunned faces, but was slowed down by Ratchet lifting a finger. "A DUTY of my choosing!"

Curbside.

Both Wheeljack and Topspin laughed at that, but then Twin Twist obviously got himself neck deep in scrap against a resurrected from the dead Silas/Breakdown morph. If THAT wasn't enough to slag off Wheeljack knowing that Miko was in trouble, he wasn't allowed off the berth because he was down an arm. It was just an arm! Instead he got to see SMOKESCREEN bridged in before he ran off to help Twin Twist.

Stranger, Twin Twist and Smokescreen came back . . . as CHUMS.

Backslaps. High fives. Laughter. Wheeljack thought his processor would fritz.

"Twist?"

Twin Twist was heavier in his step, tired from the battle, but he grinned, optics lighting up bright as he gave them both a mock bow. "And I say it again! It is GOOD to be back in action! Love that berth for me, boys, I am coming back and coming back hot!"

Smokescreen laughed too, grinning. "You guys keep it warm for each other. Twist and I aren't ever going to be there!"

Topspin's vocals diffused. "TWIST?" he repeated Smokescreen. Since when was he using his brother's nickname?

Wheeljack had never felt so helpless in all his life. Never mind that he was without an arm and Topspin was without an arm, but the fact that . . . a Wrecker . . . was chums . . . with ELITE GUARD?

His processor couldn't quite process it. Twin Twist snapped his fingers, pointing at both stupidly stunned and angry mechs on the medical berths. "I will see you guys when you're finally put back together. I am BACK on active duty! You guys just think on that!"

He waltzed off with that slight limp, laughing all the way with Smokescreen, the Elite Guard member thankful to finally be on even footing with the other bots. And, Miko wasn't around currently to boss him, and Wheeljack could only gape with Topspin as his twin walked off with Smokescreen. The newbie.

"Nothing these past days have turned out how I meant them to be," Wheeljack muttered, passing a hand over his face.

Finally, Topspin said, "The punishment we think up for him will NOT be either boring or pointless."

Wheeljack glanced over at Topspin. "What are you thinking?"

Topspin's visor glinted. "Cruel."

"Painful?"

"In his mind."

His lip plates curled. "I like how you think. Pink?"

"Yes."

"Upside down?"

"Cuffed."

"Alone."

"Optimus's berth room."

Wheeljack gave a laugh, a grin pulling his lips. "You make it sound kinky."

"Nah. We'll have to disable his communications though."

"Bubblegum. Seen what that human stuff does?"

Wheeljack smirked. "Sure have. I like it."

"Hot sauce."

"And tar."

"Feathers."

"How is this still gonna be pink?"

Topspin paused. "It will be."

Wheeljack grunted. "Twin Twist will hate us forever."

"Good! Told him he shouldn't challenge geniuses. And challenge us not to make his punishment pointless and boring. This will be the most interesting thing he's ever suffered."

Wheeljack shrugged. "Easy enough. What about the kid?"

"Miko's got him covered."

Wheeljack's optics flickered. "She sure does. I'll have her do something extra horrible for him."

Topspin grinned. He lifted his one good fist. "He won't ever cross us again."

Wheeljack grinned and fist bumped him back. "He sure won't."


	40. Optimus's Wisdom on the Past

**Author's Note:**

**Songs of inspiration:**

**"Troublemaker" by Olly Murs**

**"Between the Raindrops" by Lifehouse**

* * *

><p>"Wheeljack. Topspin. Miko."<p>

All three looked up guiltily. Wheeljack covered it with a look of nonchalance. Topspin covered it with a nervous grin. Miko just plain looked guilty.

It was enough for the Prime to know, YES, he was on the right trail.

The Prime blinked down at them. "Where is Twin Twist?"

The brief flicker of a smirk across Wheeljack's lips was all he needed. Topspin gave a nervous laugh, and Miko looked up at the two Wreckers, not understanding.

Ratchet, across the room, sees all this and had to come over, wondering what had got his leader's hackles up. "Optimus?"

"I'll handle this," Optimus stressed, narrowing his optics. "Wheeljack?"

It took him a moment to school his grin. "Sir?"

"Where is Twin Twist."

"You mean you don't know?"

He seemed surprised. Optimus's gaze flattened even more. "No, I do not. And he has not been seen all day."

"Ah . . ." Wheeljack coughed, clearing his articulators nervously. "Well, ah . . . I haven't seen Smokescreen either." All three Wreckers sputtered slightly.

"Wheeljack. I asked about Twin Twist."

Wheeljack cleared his articulators again, and he jerked a thumb towards the hall. "Might wanna . . . check your berth room, sir."

His disbelief and surprise was veiled well beneath a muffled mask of fury. Finally, he blinked, reached over, and grabbed Ratchet's wrench.

Wheeljack froze.

He held out a hand, inclining his helm. "Lead the way."

When Wheeljack and Topspin started to move out, Optimus grabbed Wheeljack's arm. "ALL of the Wreckers," Optimus stressed.

Wheeljack gave a helpless gesture to Miko and picked her up in his servo. She ducked her head guiltily, and while she was laughing in delight, she was also the only one to realize that crossing the line with Optimus wasn't a good idea.

Wheeljack didn't even look at the Prime as he opened the Prime's berth room door and stepped inside with them. Topspin dropped his head, trying his hardest not to laugh at the sight of his brother. Miko snorted before she could stop herself, and as she looked up at him, she tried so hard not to laugh that tears sparked in her eyes and she began to rock.

Optimus took it all in with a critical optic, slowly tapping Ratchet's wrench against his thigh. Ratchet was so beside himself with rage he couldn't even speak.

Twin Twist glared balefully down at Wheeljack and Topspin from where his peds were stuck to the ceiling, courtesy of the Polarity Gauntlet. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and his vocalizer had a sticky wad of bubblegum caught in it, rendering his vocalizer unusable. His communications were jammed too, thanks to the magnets on his audios. Not the worst, but certainly the most prominent, was the heavy black tar that clung to almost every inch of his body and the MASSIVE amounts of pink feathers dumped over him (no one even wanted to ASK where Topspin and Wheeljack had acquired that much tar and craft feathers). The worst was his face, so red it was a wonder he didn't explode where he was strung up. He was trying his hardest to say something, scream something, and they could hear his fans on as loud and as hard as they could. What little metal showed seemed to glow he was so hot, and because the room was not hot, the Prime couldn't fathom why Twin Twist seemed to be suffering a heat stroke so badly.

Finally, Optimus stated quietly, "Since Twin Twist is incapable of communication," and he turned a hard glare on the brother, "would you mind explaining to me why Twin Twist is overheating?"

Topspin bit his lip so hard he bled to keep himself from laughing. After a second, he cycled in a deep breath to calm himself and said, "Mad Dog 357 Ghost Pepper Hot Sauce."

Miko's eyes widened. "No. Way." She looked over at Topspin, jaw dropping in a combination of unholy horror and glee. "You seriously put that in his energon tanks!"

Topspin was guffawing so hard now he couldn't even speak straight. Optimus then set his sights on Miko. "Would you care to explain?"

Miko snorted so hard the tears began to fall free. "The HOTTEST hot sauce in the world," she choked out, "made with the hottest pepper ever!"

Optimus turned his glare up to Twin Twist stuck to the ceiling above his berth. Once they let down the poor mech, he would land on his berth, tar and feathers and all. The Prime took a strangled breath before muttering, "Dare I EVEN ask where Smokescreen is?"

Wheeljack chuckled nervously. "Well, the only OTHER place that no one would think to check."

There was a pause, and then—THWACK!

Wheeljack roared, wincing away and hand nearly crushing Miko as he arched and jolted away from where Optimus had thrown Ratchet's wrench right into his sensitive winglet. The medic himself was beside himself with fury, face splotched as red as Twin Twist's as he lifted his hands toward Wheeljack. His lips quivered, words strangled by his rage. His fingers clenched and twitched with the urge to strangle the two Wreckers.

Topspin stifled his guffaws as well as he could, but they all seemed to be having troubles putting a lid on their amusement. "I . . . guess you want to see him too?" Topspin ventured.

Optimus pointed a finger, nearly quivering like an over wound watch. All his gears nearly sprung to exploding. "Out."

Twin Twist thrashed a little as they left him hanging on the ceiling to go find Smokescreen. The nerves in Miko's body practically popped she was trying so hard not to laugh and failing. She buried her face in her knees, hiding the tears of laughter and trying to muffle her giggles. Even before they made it in the room, Wheeljack and Topspin were snickering.

To make matters worse, Smokescreen was laying out on Ratchet's berth as happy as a lark. Stuck to his Elite helm point (that matched the other Iconian in the room) was a series of bedazzled gems that made his forespire look like the central point of a tiara. Wrapped around the rest of his helm were a series of Mardi Gras plastic beads accenting his reign of the berth draped in massive amounts of silky parachute material. On each side of the top of his helm were giant fluffy black and pink silk-lined ears. Singing away, he happily swung one of his painted peds off the berth edge in time to his song with a long fluffy cat tail extending from the small of his back. On each ped tip was Optimus's ruby red touch-up paint looking like . . . well, Miko's painted toes of the other day, but a little more claw-like. On his fingertips was Arcee's touch-up paint as pink claws. Around his wrists were those fluffy boas you could find at any craft store. That would have been all fine and dandy IF there wasn't a link of brand new shiny chain between each wrist. Fluffy black handcuffs tied his wrists over his glittery helm to the wall like a king's prostitute.

"Oh, hey guys! You know, that new energon punch you whipped up, whoo MAN that stuff is slagg'n good! Eh, you might want to check the mixture. I haven't really had any high grade before, but this stuff has made me reeeeally loose. On the other hand, yeah, I feel like I could take on all of the NEMESIS. I know you said that stuff is extra powerful and gives me a boost of energy . . . Think you can let me up now that Boss-Bot is here? He's strong enough to hold me down if I . . . you know, hurt you guys, or something like that."

With each word, the crazy ultra-fluffy pipe cleaner whiskers glued to his cheeks twitched. And the pink-painted triangle nose of his wiggled too. Just to top off his face, the glittery "eye shadow" finished his snobby princess attire.

Optimus and Ratchet stared, something in their internals grinding to a halt.

Smokescreen looked nonchalantly down to the striped termite-tent clipped to his waist like a cheerleader's short skirt and the matching . . . bikini top? "You know, I still don't understand how this outfit is going to help me in battle though. Are you suuuuure these bracelets have magical powers? But on the other hand, I think those special beads are working. I just couldn't contact Ratchet for ANYTHING. And if I can't call out then I KNOW Soundwave won't be able to get in and read my mind. So what'a ya say you help me get my arms unstuck and we go kick some Decepti-aft? I'm loaded and ready to go!" He tried to give off a Wrecker's growl, but it comes out more like a techno-puppy's weak bravado. Miko snorted, dropping her face in her hands at the similarity of that weak meow so similar to Simba trying to be brave as his father.

Optimus was beyond livid. He was baffled, confused, and so NOT in the mood for this. Ratchet's mouth was open, but the roar that came from Optimus made even Ratchet cringe. He'd never seen Optimus this . . . this . . .there was no word in any language for how . . . Heh, not even Megatron had seen this side of Optimus Prime. Three more steps and Ratchet found the safety of a dark corner to hide in. Not so much for the other three left in the room. Ratchet just cowered out of the way, hearing that roar he hadn't heard in millennia that made the living Prime roar just like—

Topspin slapped his hands over his audios. Wheeljack cringed and nearly forgot Miko was in his palm as they both yelped, "Commander Ultra Magnus! I can explain!"

Neither Wrecker noticed the slip up in speech except for the inebriated one. "Yeah, that's not Ultra Magnus. You guys daft or glitchy or sumthin? That's Prime . . ." His little drunken face pinched. "Oh, wait, you know . . . Haha! They do look kinda alike. Optimus, did you ever know that you look just like him?"

Every fuse in Optimus's body nearly blew. His hand slashed down as he snapped, "Smokescreen, SILENCE." He again took a vain and strangled breath before he glared at the three Wreckers that were looking smaller and smaller with each passing moment. His optics blazed a bit too brightly as he pointed.

"Topspin. You will take your brother down from the ceiling of my room, and if the berth is rumpled in the SLIGHTEST or if one scrap of pink feather is left in my room, you will scrub the entire base with a toothbrush. You will clean his energon tanks of this hot sauce. You will clean the gum from his articulators. You will pluck every feather from your twin, and you will scrap off every bit of tar. When you have finished with THAT, you, Miko," and he turned to the small human who managed to nearly disappear into Wheeljack's hand, "will then scrub every inch of Twin Twist's body clean with a toothbrush. Only then," and he glared back at Topspin, "will you repaint him," and he glared back at Miko, "and YOU will be the one giving him a buff job."

Optimus then turned his black glower to Wheeljack, the ring leader of this mess. "Wheeljack, you will free Smokescreen of his bondage. You will take every idiosyncrasy from his body and you will help him get over his hangover." Wheeljack cringed slightly, only thinking of how the young mech would be purging all over the place. "When he has recovered, you will take him to the back and repaint him and buff him yourself. You will clean Ratchet's berth room of this mess."

The Prime shifted his severe frown back to Miko. She quailed. "You, missy, will not ever boss Smokescreen around. Your throne will go. Bulkhead's throne will go." He then turned back to Wheeljack. "You will clean the energon tanks for a month. And after the stunning display of your 'teaching' Smokescreen the ropes of battle," it was unsaid how horribly Wheeljack had humiliated the mech, "we will meet on the training range for a week and I will teach you PERSONALLY how much you really know about battle."

Wheeljack cringed and ducked his head, thinking of the last time he had fought the Prime. On a friendly field of battle, the Prime had swept the floor with him. He shuddered with a little seed of fear blooming in his chassis for how brutal this next week would be.

When all three Wreckers could only look at the floor, chastised thoroughly and drilled to the floor, Optimus crossed his arms as intimidating as possible over his broad chassis and growled, "I suggest you get started immediately before I help you—"

They scattered. Topspin was out of the room so fast he was nothing but a blur. Wheeljack sat Miko down and the little human darted off as quick as she could to destroy her throne. Wheeljack leapt to Smokescreen, undoing his bondage as Optimus glared on. Ratchet stalked out, lid finally flipping as he raged at the top of his vocalizer and went to harass Topspin every second of the way. Smokescreen just looked up at Wheeljack with wide optics, still uncomprehending as he said,

"You suuuure I'm safe, Wheeljack? Mh, my hero, where are you taking me? Oooh, my tanks don't feel good, hopefully you've got something magic to fix that too. Don't the humans say to kiss it and make it feel better?"

* * *

><p>Taking the elevator to the roof, Ratchet found his Prime doing the last thing he ever expected: throwing rocks and watching them sail. For a moment, he didn't know if he should stand back or advance. The leader's shoulders looked a bit more relaxed, but they still were not completely tension free.<p>

"If you are here to examine me mentally or physically, go away. If you are here to blow off steam with me, grab some rocks."

With a shrug, Ratchet reached over, making sure not to touch the ones around Cliffjumper's horn, and grabbed a handful. Optimus moved over a bit and gave Ratchet room to chuck.

"Are we aiming for anything?"

"I've been trying to hit that cactus three clicks over from that strange red pickup."

"Not the Jackhammer or Mattock?" He quirked his optic to check the reaction.

Optimus just shook his head. "No."

Ratchet chucked his rock and hit the target. Optimus huffed. Ratchet felt his spark pang in guilt. Apparently, he hit Optimus's target before he did. "Sorry."

Optimus just shook his head and rubbed his brow. "I should be better than this. Above all this. I lost my . . . composure."

The CMO turned his head to look at the defeated Prime. "Oh really? Didn't realize that when you became Prime it also made you Primus. I thought you were still a mech?"

Throwing his remaining rocks at his peds, he grumbled, "Not funny, Ratchet."

"Not meant to be, Optimus."

The bigger bot turned back around, narrowing his optics. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're still a regular mech and yes, they are still twerps that need to be brought under a firm rein. Why do you THINK they called you Magnus?"

That sent a shiver down the living brother's back. Ratchet pressed on, "Exactly. Right there, you became a Wrecker. A commanding Wrecker."

Optimus clenched both of his servos. "I wanted to wreck them all. Not just the juvenile ones who strung them up but the idiots who ALLOWED themselves to be strung up! What the . . . !" He seethed silently, knowing that to swear would be beneath his title.

"Hell? Pit? Slag? Scrap? Shit? Frag? Fuck?" Ratchet gave him a string of obscenities the leader could have spewed but refused to.

Finally a black palm is thrown up. "All of the above and then some."

"Come on Optimus—ORION. Let one out."

"No."

"Why do you think I hit them? Because I know you won't and they need a good swift kick in the can. I'm sorry, but when you beat me to the punch today, I was ready to scream and cheer you on. But I knew it would only make you madder and possibly turn on me. That scared me. By the All Spark, Optimus, you don't even let Megatron see your anger! Who has?"

He expelled a sad vent. "Ultra Magnus."

"Of course, he's your little brother."

"Older."

The swift statement of correction made Ratchet stop. "What?"

Optimus sighed. "He's my older brother," he confessed softly. "And he saw how angry I was when the Matrix chose me and not him." Ratchet stared with a sense of shock, but he managed to nod, to encourage his leader to continue. Optimus scrubbed his face like a younger mech would and groaned.

"I asked him, I begged him to come with me. But the stubborn arrogant aft said no! He told me it was his job—" He choked. "He said it was always his job to look after me, and now as Prime, more to the cause I looked after."

Ratchet sagged. Why Ultra Magnus had so steadfastly stayed to defend the Autobot turf that still lingered on Cybertron. To give them at least a fighting's chance on the home field.

The soft whir of the elevator brought bot mech helms up. The tiny little form of Miko stepped out cautiously as she looked at the Prime, trying to determine if he was still as angry as before.

He turned to her. "What is it, Miko?"

Seeing that he wasn't berating her, she didn't flee, but she did pause, noting how heavy his voice sounded and how Ratchet's slumped shoulders suddenly straightened. "Um . . . if I'm interrupting something, I can leave."

Optimus shook his head. "It is all right, Miko. What is it?"

She dipped her head. There was a quiet moment in which no one said anything, and finally, Miko scuffed her toe through the dirt, murmuring, "I'm sorry."

Ratchet blinked. "What?"

Her little nose wrinkled. It was the last thing the medic had expected to hear from her. Miko nodded. "I'm sorry, Optimus. I didn't mean to make you mad."

Optimus took a step to her and knelt down closer to her level. "With such rambunctious pranks as those, did you think I would be anything near pleased?"

That toe scuffed through the dirt again. "No."

"Then why did you do it?"

She squirmed uncomfortably. "Thought it'd be funny . . ." was finally her mumbled response.

"You earned your punishment, Miko. But I accept your apology."

He watched a small smile play at the edges of her lips. Relief. She was glad she hadn't made him so mad. Optimus felt his spark sink lower. After a moment, he said, "Ratchet, would you please leave us?"

The medic seemed surprised, and for a second he almost protested, but then, obediently left, sensing something more. Miko looked up in wary confusion.

"Um . . . So . . .?"

Optimus released a great vent of air. "Miko. Remember back for me when you and Wheeljack went out for revenge against Dreadwing."

She flinched slightly. "Okay . . ."

"Now remember for me the times I took you to school. Do you remember the time you yelled at me and kicked me?"

She cringed again, hanging her head guiltily. "Yes, sir."

He felt his soul bleed at that tiny statement. He reached a hand forward and gently nudged her chin up. "I am not chastising you," he said quietly. Miko looked up, brows cinching. Optimus cycled another steadying breath. "With all that has happened recently, I am afraid I had forgotten and neglected a conversation I have been meaning to speak with you about. About you. About me."

Miko frowned, shifting. "Um . . . What about, um, us?"

Optimus's blue optics glowed as the sun slowly began to set. "Miko, it is more about my treatment of you than it is of your own conduct." At her puzzled face, he said softly, "Miko, while I have expressed how much I appreciate Jackson and Rafael, indeed, how much I enjoy them, I do not feel I've expressed that same liking to you."

Her face scrunched more. "What . . . Optimus, you're fine. Really. Don't worry about it."

"No, Miko," he cut in gently. "I DO worry. I feel as though I've done nothing but reprimand you from the moment you stepped foot into this silo. It seems as if . . . everything I've done to protect you has only managed to stifle you. And . . . possibly the worst of me, when I separated you from Wheeljack, it was because of my own insecurities. I was so . . . afraid. I worried too much about how to keep you safe, and it all stemmed from the recent loss of Bulkhead." She blinked at him. Optimus nodded. "I was so guilty that I could not save Bulkhead, and seeing how devastated you were over his loss . . . That is why I kept you on so tight a leash that I only ended up choking you."

Miko dipped her head quickly, blinking fast to hide her sudden tears. She didn't expect to see a broken Prime tonight. Her throat worked tightly as she tried to say something to alleviate his pain, but all the words stuck behind the tears.

"And the apparent estrangement with your host parents," he murmured. "Concerning your female sex . . . I inadvertently emphasized it more with my appraisal of the boys and my apparent discouragement over you."

Miko shook her head suddenly, blurting, "No, no, Optimus, shut up, seriously, this is all water under the bridge. Seriously. I mean—I—Yeah, it's all in the past, it doesn't matter anymore, it really doesn't."

Optimus blinked once at her. "The past is what defines us, Miko."

Little rivers started down her cheeks. She crossed her arms against the chill of the night. "It hurts."

Optimus reached down, curling his fingers around her. "Yes, the past does hurt," he said quietly, his own spark paining with memories. "And I miss my brother as much as you miss Bulkhead." She sniffled quietly, wiping her face and nose. Optimus's optics softened as he looked down at the human he had misunderstood for so long. "But from the way I see it, the past is something to learn from. The way we must learn to let go of past grievances and instead learn to love those around us even more while they are still with us."

She began to cry. In an affectionate gesture he hadn't used since his older brother, Optimus scooped Miko into his hand and tucked her close under his chassis, holding her there.

When the sun fell and the moon rose, Wheeljack came to find his charge and take her home. He instead left her where he found her and formulated an apology to Mrs. Davis as to why she would be home late tonight.


	41. Experimenting on a Mad Scientist

**Author's Note:**

**Meh... little bit of a filler chapter, but I had to keep the plot moving SOMEHOW...**

**Well, it's a FUNNY filler chapter!**

* * *

><p>A hand took her shoulder, and Arcee nearly blew a gasket.<p>

She whirled, snapping, "For the LAST TIME, I will NOT have a threesome with you!"

Optimus blinked at her. She blinked at him. After a moment in which Arcee could only stare, Optimus finally teased with a thoughtful face, "I'll let Wheeljack know, though I am sure he will be disappointed."

Arcee blinked stupidly once more before groaning and dropping her face in her hands in mortification. "Optimus, I am so sorry."

Optimus's optics twinkled that she was so embarrassed by his tease. "Twins?"

"Yes."

He nodded in understanding, thinking of the last horrible prank the twins had been involved in. "Actually, I came here because Smokescreen is patching up Wheeljack after our . . . VIGOROUS training exercise." When Optimus had the good graces to look a bit uncomfortable, Arcee just shrugged a shoulder.

"He deserves it and you know it. Need I remind you of what Twin Twist looked like on the ceiling of your berth room?"

That did the trick. Optimus's brows crinkled, and he nodded. "Yes. But I am afraid I broke his arm and did more than just nick one of his audio receptors."

Arcee winced then. "And the rookie needs help patching him up," she finished. She waved a hand. It was unsaid that Ratchet refused to patch Wheeljack up after these things. "I'm on it, Optimus."

Optimus nodded his head, grateful for her assistance. As he disappeared off, Arcee began to scrounge through the medical bay, searching for an arm brace for Wheeljack's broken arm.

"What are you doing?"

Arcee jumped three feet high, jerking sharply. "Primus!" She pressed a hand to her spark chamber, glaring up at Ratchet. "The frag are you trying to do? Give me a spark attack?"

Ratchet crossed his arms and narrowed his optics. "You're rooting through my medical bay. What for?"

Arcee scowled right back at him. "A brace. Optimus broke Wheeljack's arm."

The gleam of a pleased light in his optics made Arcee frown more at him, but he gladly showed her where he kept the braces and welder.

On the other end of the base, in the training room, was Smokescreen and Wheeljack.

Needless to say, things weren't going well between the two of them.

"Primus slag you to Pit!" Wheeljack roared. He knocked Smokescreen's hand away, flinching and nursing the throbbing side of his head. "You trying to kill me?"

"I'm trying to help!" Smokescreen finally exploded in frustration. "You squirm worse than I do!"

Wheeljack settled a flat glare at him. "It's my audio receptor," he gritted out. He arched a brow. "In case you didn't know, they're highly sensitive. Do I need to let you feel EXACTLY how sensitive they are?"

Smokescreen scowled back at him before he huffed and crossed his arms."Well, would you at least let me take care of your arm?" He gave a gesture to the blue liquid all over the floor. "You're leaking everywhere."

Wheeljack bared his denta. "Let me leak. What do you care? You were the one watching on the sidelines and wincing at all the hard blows and going, 'Oooh! That one hurt!' and 'Oh, NICE one Optimus!' and 'Sure glad it's not me!' so why the frag do you want to help?"

The second Smokescreen opened his mouth to respond, Wheeljack held up a hand and shook his head. "Don't EVEN say it's because Optimus ordered you to."

Smokescreen vented sharply. "Look. Has it ever occurred to you that I WANT to help but you won't let me? I just want to fit in here! You're making it fragging hard to be your friend when you're putting up all this slag to keep me away!"

Wheeljack glared at the young rookie, noting how he had hurt his feelings. But he honestly didn't care at the moment. He was in pain, his pride was smarting yet again, and if getting repaired by Topspin had been bad, it was worse getting patched up by the rookie.

Finally, Wheeljack looked back at his broken arm. "I don't want your help." It was a pretty nasty break. It stood right now at a grisly angle.

"Quit being a baby," Smokescreen said. He pushed out a sigh and gestured to Wheeljack's arm. "You're hurt. You seriously want to set that on your own?"

Wheeljack glanced at the arm. He glanced at Smokescreen. After a second, he heard Arcee's voice.

"Wheeljack, that is one nasty break. You must have really slagged Optimus off."

Smokescreen sighed in defeated and backed away as Arcee came up to them. Wheeljack grinned up at her, a trail of energon streaming down his audio receptor. "Doll! There you are. Gonna help me get—FRAGGING SCRAP!"

Wheeljack jolted and swore when Arcee snapped his arm back around and set it in place. He felt his entire body spasm. He cursed under his breath again and glared at her. "Give me a little WARNING next time?"

She just smirked at him. "Maybe."

Wheeljack heard a small snort from Smokescreen. He turned and glared daggers at the rookie. The young Elite Guard member managed to look a little sheepish, wanting to get the Wrecker's approval like he had done with Twin Twist, but he couldn't seem to break through the fourth wall. Arcee glanced up at him.

"Smokescreen, you're with Bumblebee. Energon scouting."

He huffed out a frustrated sigh before wordlessly marching himself from the room. As Arcee helped Wheeljack get his arm inside the cast, she raised a brow at him.

"You can't give the kid a break?"

He frowned right back at her. "You can't give him a break?"

Arcee scowled. Wheeljack hissed when she overzealously locked the brace around his arm. "Only when he's being stupid. Which is 90% of the time."

"I don't like him."

"And why not?"

When Wheeljack failed to elaborate, Arcee picked up the welder with a smug look. "It's cause he's Elite Guard, right?"

"Of course."

Wheeljack flinched and hissed when she began to weld the nasty leak shut. "So? Have Wreckers and Elite Guard always been at odds with each other?"

Wheeljack flinched away again when the heat singed. "Hey! Easy with that. I need that arm."

"Then stop squirming."

Wheeljack grunted. He shrugged his opposite shoulder. "Course we've always been at odds. Elite Guard are pricks and Wreckers are down to earth."

Arcee snorted. "Oh really?" She patted his shoulder. "Don't strain that arm or else you'll break the weld open and take even longer to heal."

"I know that," he muttered, rolling his optics. "Of course I'm right! You ever met those guys? The only one I could stomach was Jazz, but that Prowl, Primus, he was something pulled out of the Pit."

Arcee snorted. "He just needed a good frag."

"Poor soul. Stressed over everything. He was sad, really."

Wheeljack swore again and jerked away when Arcee started to bring the welder up to his audio receptor. "Fraggit, woman! Stop that!"

"Do you WANT to keep leaking?"

Wheeljack's face wrinkled and he pulled back. "Honestly? Yes, I think I would."

Arcee snorted and rolled her optics. "Fine. Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?"

Wheeljack paused. After considering the question carefully with all its pros and cons, he finally winced and shook his head. "Nah . . . Tempting, but no. These babies are super sensitive, Doll, you know this."

Arcee finally just huffed. "Well, you can either hold still or I'll tell Smokescreen why your nickname is Blinky."

Wheeljack recoiled and then narrowed his optics at her. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

They glared at each other for a moment. "Now c'mon, WOOKUMS," Wheeljack purred back. Arcee's face flushed. "If you told him that, I wouldn't let you play with all the different colors they turn."

Her curiosity was piqued again. She slowed down, brows puckering as she tried to process that. "Again, I'm going to ask you what that means."

"And again, I'm not going to tell you."

Arcee huffed and crossed her arms in exasperation. "Look. You can either sit still and let me weld that fragging cut shut or I'll pin you down and weld it shut."

Wheeljack put on a great show of considering her offers. "Well, getting pinned down by you DOES seem like it'd be pretty hot . . ." When her optics narrowed dangerously and her back struts perked, Wheeljack held up his hands in defeat at the promise in her optics to kill him. "All right! All right! I'm holding still . . ."

Wheeljack cringed but gritted through it. And, in less than a minute, she was finished. She sat the welder down and cocked a brow at him.

"There. Now was that so hard? You didn't need to act like a sparkling."

He snorted. "I was not acting like a sparkling."

"You were too." Arcee crossed her arms and tossed her helm. "I don't even know why I tried so hard. I should have just let you bleed to death and then find Smokescreen to replace you. He acted a whole lot more grown up than you just did."

Wheeljack's optics flared. He shifted, turning to face her fully and getting his face in hers. "Oh really?"

Her lips pursed. "Maybe he would change colors for me."

Despite being down one arm, Wheeljack had the opportunity of surprise and lunged, slamming his full weight into her and pinning her down beneath him. She gritted her dentures, squirming with the effort to get out from underneath him, hands shoving at his shoulders.

"Wheeljack, get OFF!"

"You asked for it," he husked dangerously in her audio. She wiggled more, and his lip plates parted in a wicked smirk, her squirming only making it worse. He turned the long dormant program on, letting his audio receptors blink in tandem to his words. "You want up?"

"GET OFF."

"Fine."

Wheeljack jumped up, grabbed her by an arm, and threw her across the room. As he had expected, she flipped and landed on her peds, albeit shakily, before she narrowed her optics dangerously.

"You just picked on the wrong femme."

Wheeljack laughed devilishly, grinning. He splayed the fingers of his one good hand. "I'll beat you down one arm."

"That's what you think!"

Arcee ran straight to him, and Wheeljack fell into the dance of battle with her, defending more than attacking as she pounded her little fists into him. Wheeljack grinned, grabbing one fist and wrenching her little body around. Arcee growled and flipped, managing to twist his wrist back around. And then, in the ultimate cheap shot, she clapped her hand over his unhurt audio receptor.

Wheeljack flinched and shouted, and he felt the world tip, careen, and crash on its side as he hit the floor. He grunted when her knees pinned his shoulders to the ground with the full weight of her body, and both of her hands pressed his helm to the floor by his audio receptors, claw-like fingers digging almost painfully into his audio receptors.

"Give up?"

Wheeljack just grinned beneath her, taking a great deal of pleasure in her position. "No." Instead, he bent his good arm in, fingers reaching and toying at her whale tail. He watched the heat of mortification shoot into her cheeks.

A second later, he suffered a nasty punch to his jaw, but Wheeljack just laughed heartily and slung her off. She tumbled away and back to her peds, but Wheelack rolled to a standing position, waggling his brows at her.

"Sure you don't want to do some . . . EXPERIMENTING with this mad scientist?" Her optics flicked to his blinking audio receptors. "I'm sure you could find out what colors these babies change."

With a growl, she charged again. Wheeljack took the offensive this time, getting a nice punch to her gut that made her gasp. In the second her guard dropped, he grabbed her back strut and wrenched it, making her cry out. He kicked her behind her knee, making her pitch to the ground, and he dropped behind her, locking his arm around her and pinning her arms to her body.

"Give up?" he asked cockily.

Arcee struggled. "NO!"

Wheeljack chuckled and nuzzled behind her neck, pressing his lips here and there. "You SURE?" he purred.

Her breath hitched. Then, defiantly, she reached her hands back and aggressively pinched the exposed wires in his hips. Wheeljack grunted and jerked back, but stubbornly kept his arm firmly around her, but she twisted herself up until her peds connected with his face. He went sprawling on his back, and he gritted his dentures, audio receptors flaring a bright yellow in pain.

Arcee jumped back on him, face set smugly. "Like that?" she said, taking in how his blinking audio receptors had turned from its standard blue to yellow. "And what if I did THIS—!"

Her ped slammed down on the inside of his thigh, and Wheeljack jerked, audio receptors flaring bright orange in panic at where she had almost hit him. "Fraggit, Arcee! You're playing dirty now!"

She shrugged. "I don't remember any rules." In saying so, she socked him right in the face again, at the optic, and then, again in his audio receptor. He swore under his breath, reaching up and throwing her off of him again, and his audio receptors began to dye a deeper orange to red, the pain making them flare hot.

His optic recalibrated as his systems got over the shock of pain. "Arcee, you're gonna wish you hadn't done that."

She laughed and drew back up to her peds, bouncing lightly from ped to ped. "That's what you think. I'm having fun."

Wheeljack grinned rakishly at her. "Who said I wasn't?"

Her optics widened slightly in alarm as he charged her, and he tackled her back to the floor, trying to pin her beneath him. She was a bit quicker this time, unfortunately, and wiggled away and to his side that was handicapped by his braced arm. She kneed him in the gut, and his audio receptors again flared orange like caution cones in panic at the thought of where she COULD have hit him. Instead, he doubled up with a shock of pain before she grabbed his hurt audio receptor and wrenched him around until he was on his back again. Wheeljack groaned in pain, hissing slightly and audio receptors flaring a more prominent red as Arcee again straddled him, knees drilling into his shoulders and hands pinning his helm down.

For a moment, Wheeljack sought to catch his breath, systems burning hot from the exercise and her close proximity. After a moment, Arcee finally said, "Give up?"

Wheeljack studied her. Primus damn was she aggressive and hot when she was competitive. He pointedly drew his optics down her once and up her once. She flushed and set her lips mulishly.

Finally, he said, "If I'm continually put in positions like this, then yes, I may consider giving up."

His audio receptors bled from red to pink. Arcee just scowled and launched another fist at his face, knocking him right in the articulators. Wheeljack winced and his glossia nudged them, glad she hadn't knocked them out. "Now c'mon," he said suggestively, and contrary to what Arcee was doing to him-beating the scrap out of him-he kept getting hotter and hotter. The pink color deepened.

"You SURE you don't want to experiment with a mad scientist?"

Her fist tightened, but the telling flush on her cheeks said more than that. Wheeljack gave her a slow grin, and he reached hand over, trailing his fingers from her ankle and slowly up her leg.

"Doll—"

She suddenly jumped to her peds and leapt away from him, blushing brightly. "Ah—Um, Jack texted me. Bumblebee and Smokescreen got their picture taken. I'm gonna go—" And then she practically fled the room.

Wheeljack blinked. The frag? He groaned, the pink slowly fading from his audio receptors.

"What she said. Smokes and Bee got their picture taken."

Wheeljack looked above him, finding Miko standing with her arms crossed and lips pursed tightly in a combination of disgust and disappointment. He groaned again, the pink fading all the way back to blue.

"Can I ask how much of that you saw?"

"Just enough to see you asking her to EXPERIMENT with you? Wheeljack, that was bad. That was just AWFUL. Like a bad pickup line!"

Wheeljack grumbled when Miko started laughing at him, and he terminated the blinking program. "Quiet, you," he muttered at her. With a wince, he stood to his peds, nursing his jaw that was hurting from where Arcee had socked him so many good ones. He leaned down and scooped Miko up. "Let's go see how much these kids are in trouble, eh?"

Miko just snorted and smirked, allowing him to change the subject. "So, have fun today? Get scrapped by Prime and Arcee?" She "tsk"ed her tongue. "You're not doing too hot, Jackie."

Initially he grumbled at her, but then, he paused, thinking about what had just happened. Instead, he grinned.

"I think I'm doing plenty hot."

Tick.

Tick.

Ding!

"AUGH! EW, JACKIE, THE FRAG? WAS THAT REALLY NECESSARY!"

Wheeljack just laughed heartily as Miko turned a horrible shade of green at his promiscuous processor. "Easy, Babe. Don't want you purging all over my hand. I might drop you!"

She dropped her head on his hand. "Then DON'T talk about you and Arcee's—EW GOD. GOD. Just—NO."

"What, our sex life?"

"OH GOD DON'T SAY IT!"

Wheeljack laughed again, entertained by her disgusted horror as he walked them back to the front of the silo. "Easy, Babe. I'm not gonna tell. I don't ask about you and Jack do I?"

"Ewewewewew EW God, Wheeljack, stop, stop . . ."

Wheeljack chuckled to himself, knowing full well nothing was going on in that category between the two humans. He waltzed into the front of the silo to find said human at the computer.

"Found it! Ol' Road Rage sure didn't waste any time posting your mug shots. Raf will scrub this as soon as he's back from house hunting."

Wheeljack sat Miko down on the railing, watching smugly as Ratchet, of course, flipped his lid. "Is THIS what you learned while serving Alpha Trion? I highly doubt he would have condoned such irresponsible behavior!"

"Blowing your cover is NOT okay," Arcee jumped in.

Smokescreen at least had the good decency to look a bit carangid. "Sorry guys. I know I really messed up."

Wheeljack shimmied away a little when Optimus stepped up. Miko snickered at him. He scowled and pushed her lightly. "While Ratchet and Arcee are correct, I believe that we all are equally responsible for this incident."

"What?" Arcee exploded.

"HOW?"

Twin Twist snorted. "We weren't even THERE!" He paused, glancing slightly next to him. "Well, Bee was."

*Hey!*

Bumblebee smacked Twin Twist's gut, but Optimus quickly intervened with, "Our recent efforts have been so intensely focused on averting crisis that we have overlooked simple matters, such as teaching Smokescreen how to best function while on this planet. It is an oversight that must be corrected."

"Optimus," Smokescreen said, "I'm honored to train under you." Wheeljack rolled his optics. "And will do whatever it takes to make things right. To make you proud."

Optimus paused. "Perhaps the best way for you to learn about the human world is from a human."

Arcee arched a dubious brow. "Smokescreen gets his own human?"

"Puh-LEASE," Ratchet scoffed. "Isn't having three humans enough?"

There was a pause as everyone turned and looked at Ratchet. Wheeljack arched a brow. Ratchet sputtered. He turned with a scoff.

"Doc, you seriously gotta shut your mouth sometimes."

Optimus waved a hand for silence. "I was referring to one already among us." He turned and looked at Jack.

He blinked. "Uh, sure, Optimus! Robots in disguise, traffic laws, don't beat down humans—" Jack nodded, giving him a look. "I can bring Smokescreen up to speed."

"We've ALL put in curbside duty," Wheeljack said with a shrug at Smokescreen's amazed face. "Comes with the gig."

As Jack came down the ladder, Smokescreen just shrugged back. "Let's go for a drive, Teach!"

They took off with a squeal of tires. Wheeljack could practically feel the heat of Arcee's anger. "Optimus, with all due respect, Agent Fowler is out relocating Raf's family because the 'Cons discovered where he lives. Meanwhile, Smokescreen—in all his wisdom—chooses a vehicle mode with screaming double 38's on the doors, making him an easy target. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't more than concerned about Jack's saftey."

"Nonetheless," Optimus replied, "the fact still remains that our new recruit is in need of instruction. I believe that Smokescreen's spark is in the right place, and that he now understands the necessity of protecting humanity."

When Arcee tucked her head, properly refuted, Wheeljack grinned at her. "In other words, Optimus doesn't give a FUCK."

"Jackie!" Miko snapped her fingers at him. She waggled her finger. "Language."

He snorted. "Yeah, yeah, I hear ya missy."

* * *

><p>"FRAG YOU TO THE PIT AND BACK OPTIMUS PRIME! PRIMUS SLAG YOU ALL TO PIT, YOU TWO TOO! I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T STOP LOOKING AT ME WITH THOSE SMUG LOOKS—GET BACK HERE! SLAG IT SLAG IT SLAG IT FRAGGING—"<p>

"Wheeljack, shut up. They're already gone."

Wheeljack growled dangerously, glaring down where the lights of the ground bridge had long disappeared. He thought his pride had burned to a smelted pool of metal. The looks. On Topspin. And Twin Twist's.

SMUG FRAGGING FACES.

Wheeljack whirled back to face Ratchet. "Then I trust now that your hands are empty of anything to do, you would PLEASE and fragging THANK YOU fix my fragging arm!"

Ratchet blinked at him and his arm still stuck in its brace from where Optimus had broken it earlier. Wheeljack glared. Ratchet smirked. Wheeljack growled.

"I don't think so. I think it's a fitting punishment of, need I remind you, what you did to Twin Twist and Smokescreen."

Wheeljack growled and stalked off, muttering, "Fragging run you through a wood chopper and make the damn kid your background . . ." He muttered all the way out of the base. He muttered all the way up to the Jackhammer. He muttered all the way into his berth room and all the way to trying to fix himself the way he had done for years when he was just a loose cannon.

By the time he had finished fixing himself, he had missed all the action anyways. He contemplated blowing something—or someONEs—up into a million pieces. It suited how angry he had gotten himself.

He was having a bad day. No, he was having a bad week. Optimus had a fancy new sword of which he was now getting a message. He looked kinda funny, standing there all froze and staring into the brightly glowing massively awesome and sexy sword like he was trying to burn his optics out. Wheeljack sat contemplating it. He could break his arm now. He could do it right now, and the Prime wouldn't be able to do a thing. Then again, he didn't look forward to whatever punishment the Prime would have dished out on him, so he didn't do anything stupid.

Instead, Optimus came back to the present, collapsing down with a knuckle-white grip on the Star Saber's hilt and a groan.

Ratchet hurried forward. "Easy, Optimus."

The Prime barely acknowledged his assistance as he stood. Smokescreen was the first to speak. "So, did he ask about me?"

Twin Twist pushed him aside. "What was the message?"

"It is paramount that we recover the final four Iacon relics. The Omega Keys."

"Keys?"

"To what?"

Wheeljack shifted, frowning at the Prime. "To the regeneration of our home planet."

Well . . . THAT certainly changed everything. And getting debriefed in the morning—Wheeljack swore under his breath. They all didn't need recharge. That could wait.

Even if it WAS two in the morning!

* * *

><p>"What the frag was he THINKING? Who am I kidding, he WASN'T thinking!"<p>

Wheeljack sat idly, listening to the rant that Arcee was preparing for Jack.

"Ugh, he's as bad as MIKO! WHY would he go out and do something like that? He knows better!"

Wheeljack hummed deep in his chassis, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

Arcee gestured indefinitely. "Of all the fragging things to do—go OUT into the combat zone? It's bad enough that he's been there before! He KNOWS he's not supposed to go out, he KNOWS not to do that, so I don't see why the frag I've gotta tell him once if not a THOUSAND times—! ARGH!"

Wheeljack rolled his shoulders, shrugging nonchalantly. "He's still just a kid. Smokescreen just made him act like one."

"AUGH and Smokescreen too!" She threw her arms up, and Wheeljack's lip tipped, smirking slightly at her working herself into lather. Primus knew how hot she was when she got mad. He could watch her rage all night.

"Smokescreen is old enough to know better too! He's MILLENIA old! If anything, HE should have been the one setting the example for Jack and not the other way around! I thought Jack would have been a good influence on him, but he just ended up being a BAD influence on Jack!"

He watched her pace across the room, back and forth, like a caged lion. "Fragging as bad as Miko," he heard her swear under her breath. "As bad as Miko!"

"You can leave Miko out of it," Wheeljack pointed out with a shrug. "She's been a good girl. Passing her math, learning to drive, and she hasn't gone gallivanting out lately."

Arcee growled wordlessly again, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Which is why I DON'T understand what the frag is wrong with Jack! He ought to be grounded for a week. A month! Until he's thirty!"

Wheeljack arched a brow. Well, that escalated fast. Instead, with a weary vent, he stood up, saying, "Well, that's all fine and dandy, Doll, you keep ranting about Jack all you like." Before she could stop him, Wheeljack picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and began to walk from the silo. Ratchet didn't even glance at them as they passed by.

"WHEELJACK!" She kicked and squirmed in his grasp, swearing under her breath. "Wheeljack, put me DOWN!"

"No."

Arcee growled in his audio receptors. "You'll put me down or I'll tear your articulators out."

"Nope."

He shifted her quickly, smacking her aft as he drug her kicking and screaming towards the Jackhammer. "Wheeljack, when I get my hands on you—"

"You'll what?" he said with a cocky smirk. "If you really wanted out, you would have gotten out by now. Besides, sounds like a sexual innuendo to me."

She didn't seem to have an answer for that because she didn't respond. Wheeljack grinned as he brought her into the Jackhammer, and he slung her down into the passenger seat, reached over and turned the autopilot on, and settled on top of her. She flushed brightly.

Wheeljack tripped the switch to his audio receptors, letting them blink in tandem with his words. "Tell you what, Arcee," he said on a husk. "I was gonna be romantic tonight, let the Jackhammer fly us forever under the stars, but I'm feeling a bit different now. After all, you've done went and got yourself worked up like nothing else which I find hot on SO many levels." He leaned down, grazing her audio receptors with his lips. She twitched. "Just to let you know," he breathed softly, breath tickling her audios, "you being angry turns my engine on." He grinned devilishly at her, optics planning things for her.

"How about we finish our experimenting? If you're a good little femme, I might even let you TOP."


	42. Brooding

**Author's Note:**

**Song: _Buried Alive__Avenged Sevenfold**

* * *

><p>Wheeljack wasn't usually one for thinking about other things while he worked, but . . . this time, as his fingers fiddled over the last bit of the first rough completion of his holoform, he couldn't help but let his mind wander.<p>

His wandering processor had already resulted in him blowing the thing up twice. Bumblebee had backed up with Raf with distrustful optics to the far end of the room.

A life without Miko. He couldn't do that.

He'd stay on Earth.

Granted, it wasn't as if Cybertron was restored. They couldn't be making plans yet. But . . . he had just wanted to be ready for the thought should they actually restore Cybertron to its former glory.

Miko was in the corner with Raf and Bumblebee, amp hooked up, practicing her latest ballad. He mournful guitar notes were plucked clear and pretty, a cascading of notes that created an intricate and beautiful melancholy melody.

She began to sing, adding her voice to the mix. "Take the time just to listen when the voices screaming are much too loud . . . Take a look in the distance, try and see it all . . ."

Wheeljack vented softly, optics shuttering as he again fixed his holoform. He was going to miss Cybertron. Nostalgia welled up. He was going to miss it a lot. He was sure Miko wouldn't mind letting him go visit because he knew she'd love to visit with him, but . . . Earth was her home. She wouldn't leave it. It absolutely bled his spark dry to know he would give up his own home for her.

"Chances are that you might find that we share a common discomfort now . . . I feel I'm walking a fine line, tell me only if it's real . . ."

But he could do it. For her, at least. He quickly glanced up to her, seeing her head swing slightly to the forlorn music, fingers plucking at the strings a memorized path by ear. He dropped his sights back to his tiny hunk of metal, using fashioned tweezers to attach the smallest wires here and there.

"Still I'm on my way . . . Vacant hope to take . . ."

With a sudden thought, Wheeljack's fingers stilled on his holoform. Dreadwing. How long had it been since they had last seen him?

The sweetly sorrowful melody changed; it crashed heavier, sunken with despair.

"Hey! I can't live in here for another day! Darkness has kept the light concealed! Grim as ever—Hold on to faith as I dig another grave! Meanwhile the mice endure the wheel . . . Real as ever . . . And it seems I've been buried alive!"

Dreadwing. The mech hadn't even . . . hadn't even crossed his processor now that he had his Wrecking mates here, now that he was in so deep with Arcee, now that he had Miko so much in his life . . . Slowly, Wheeljack pressed out a vent and set his fingers into motion again, checking cable integrity and testing each connection.

"I walked the fields through the fire, taking steps until I found solid ground . . . Followed dreams reaching higher; couldn't survive the fall . . ."

A heavy breath escaped Wheeljack as he pondered the wretched Decepticon he hadn't seen in months. Was it good that he hadn't seen him? Probably. He knew that if he had seen the Decepticon, that fire of hate would blaze hot again and consume his processor. After what he had done to Seaspray and Bulkhead, he had to kill him. Yet, a part of him argued that Bulkhead would have preferred that he simply take care of Miko and forget about Dreadwing.

His fingers almost crushed part of his holoform. He couldn't forget about him.

"Much has changed since the last time, and I feel a little less certain now . . . You know I jumped at the first sign; tell me only if it's real . . ."

It wasn't that he was less certain about killing Dreadwing for revenge, he was just . . . more cautious now. He knew he had people he had to live for. He wasn't . . . just a loose cannon anymore. He had folks he cared about, and they, about him. He couldn't be careless. He had others he had to watch out for, protect them more than he needed revenge. That was why he hesitated.

"Memories seem to fade . . . Wash my view away . . ."

Dreadwing still festered in his spark. But he had enough sense to control himself at this point. Wheeljack paused. Maybe that was what the Prime was teaching him through those brutal smack downs. To control himself. He had never fought with such reservations before in his life.

If a guitar could weep, that was what Miko's guitar did. A haunting, sweet and sorrowful melody that suddenly turned wicked and lovely on the heavier chorus.

"Hey! I can't live in here for another day! Darkness has kept the light concealed! Grim as ever—Hold on to faith as I dig another grave! Meanwhile the mice endure the wheel . . . Real as ever . . . And I'm chained like a snake, trapped in the dark, slammed all the locks, Death calls my name, and it seems I've been buried alive!"

Wheeljack muted his audio receptors a little as Miko rocked into a lengthy and complicated bridge, periodically her fingers stumbling over a note here and there as it was her first time performing the song. Wheeljack grumbled a little to himself.

That heavy bridge had just ruined a perfectly good song.

Instead, Wheeljack just closed up the chest of his holoform, picked up the humanoid body and took it over to his work area. He lied it down, performing a scan or two, checking for misconnections and finalizing the results. He hummed slightly to himself. Raf had been a good recruit. He had certainly known his stuff.

After the last four days of his punishment were over, Wheeljack would have to approach the Prime seriously for swordsmanship lessons. Granted, the Prime couldn't tell him how to improve his own double-bladed style, but he most certainly could teach him more than he could ever teach himself.

"Take you down now; burn it all out; throw you all around; get your fucking hands off me! What's it feel like? Took the wrong route; watch it fall apart; now you're knockin' at the wrong gate!"

Then he would be ready to face Dreadwing again. Wheeljack just couldn't believe that it had taken him so long to reel in his hot temper. He suspected it dated back to his first days as a Wrecker—he had been so timid the Wreckers had laughed and walked all over him. But when the Wreckers had been short a few mechs for a mission and only he and Bulkhead were the ones that had volunteered to go willingly, they had had no choice but to take them.

"For you to pay the toll; a price for you alone; the only deal you'll find; I'll gladly take your soul!"

He could still remember Ultra Magnus pulling him aside before that mission. He had told him that walking into battle as faint-sparked as he was would only get himself killed. He needed to grit down hard, dig in deep, and find himself something worth fighting for.

"While it seems sick; sober up quick; psycho lunatic; crushing you with hands of fate! Shame to find out when it's too late; but you're all the same; trapped inside inferno awaits!"  
>At that time in his life, he had had nothing worth fighting for but the white hot fury smoldering in the remains of Crystal City.<p>

"Evil thoughts can hide; I'll help release the mind; I'll peel away the skin—_release the dark within!"_

So he had taken it. He had fallen into the darkest parts of his soul just to keep going, just to keep killing. He had taken his revenge for Crystal City in every Decepticon life he had taken, and he had never let it rest. With a pained vent, Wheeljack didn't know if he ever could.

The song was ruined for him. It was too heavy, too fast, and dark and angry and everything he hated. Miko was rocking out, head banging and fingers flying and strumming heavily. Raf was openly covering his ears—since he was so close to the amp—and Bumblebee looked a little uncomfortable too. Wheeljack smirked and looked back down on the finished product. Her guitar skills were as sharp as ever.

"This is now your life! Strike you from the light! This is now your life! Die buried alive!"  
>Arcee had taken him apart like a pro. She had disassembled his spark and laid out all the pieces and catalogued every dark secret and every sickening guilt. She had even highlighted his joys and cares and drawn out the best in him. The same went for Miko, except on a greater level.<p>

"This is now your life! Strike you from the light! This is now your life! Die buried alive!"

That could be true. Being buried alive. Yet, not in the dark sense the song presented to him. Buried alive by love, smothered by devotion and friendship and love. He didn't know what to do with it all. It had changed him. A delicate balance between the cowardly scientist he had once been and the enraged warrior he was now. He was changing, growing, becoming more than he ever had before.

If it continued like this, he could bury his past self and his future self; instead, he could break free of the chains that had held him down and live more than he ever had before.

"This is now your life! Die! Buried! Alive!"

The pressure of her guitar faded with a last hard strum. Wheeljack turned his audio receptors back up to their respective level, and in the silence that ensued, looked over at her and said:

"I liked the beginning of the song a lot better."

Miko just rolled her eyes and snorted. "Of course you would."

Raf looked over, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Is it finished?"

Wheeljack smirked. "You mean the holoform?"

Miko set her guitar down quickly, crossing the room immediately when she heard that conniving tone of voice. "It's done, isn't it! Ooh, lemme see, lemme see!"

Wheeljack chuckled, picking Miko up and setting her on the table. Bumblebee came over too, holding Raf, and his optics dilated. *You sure she should be that close, Wheeljack? Is it safe?*

The Wrecker scoffed with a roll of his optics. "Of course it's safe," he said easily with a wave of his palm. He extended his hand, plucking Raf from his hand which had the little scout in irritated stitches. "C'mon, let the big man see his work."

Raf blushed a little at being called a man, but Bumblebee just twittered disapprovingly. *You said it was safe the last time and it blew your fingers off*

Wheeljack hummed to himself. "True, true . . ." That hadn't been fun searching for his fingers with Ratchet breathing down his neck. "But it really is safe this time, I promise. I know what I'm doing."

Bumblebee grabbed his hand before he could turn anything on. *That's what you said the time before THAT* he persisted.

Wheeljack raised a brow. "Now c'mon, Bee, you don't trust me?"

Bumblebee stuttered in embarrassed confusion, stammering, *W-Well, I just think that—Well I mean, not that well after—I mean, it's already blown up so many times—Just—I'd feel a lot better if we had another set of eyes looking at it—"

Wheeljack snorted, rolled his optics, and picked up the datapad. "Here kid. You check that and set the mother-hen at ease."

Bumblebee flushed again in embarrassment, fumbling, *W-Well, I just don't want blown up humans! Can you imagine how much trouble we would be in with Ratchet? With OPTIMUS?*

Wheeljack casually socked Bumblebee in the shoulder. The younger bot rubbed his arm, struggling not to wince in front of the older warrior. "Ease, up, half-pint. I'm not that bad and Raf's tough. He can handle it."

Bumblebee sputtered red-faced a little more, but Raf just smiled a little below them. "I think it'll be okay, Bee," he said supportively as he checked over Wheeljack's work. "We've come a long way from hooking up the brain and the heart together."

This time, it was Bumblebee's turn to giggle and Wheeljack's turn to stutter in indignation. "Wh—Don't you make fun of me! I was hooking you up like we were!"

Raf blinked up in surprise. "Your sparks are connected with your processor?"

Wheeljack grunted, crossing his arms. "Just that one connection. Provides function first of all—can't have a processor without a spark or you're just a drone. It's the memory transfer line between the spark and processor; that's what happens in a spark bond."

That was why transferring cranial units was questioned. Did the memories make the person, or the spark? It was heard of for mechs whose spark had died in the field of battle to have their cranial units transferred into a new body. Sure, the new body acted like the mech, talked like the mech, and processed things like the mech, but did that truly make him the original mech? Wheeljack didn't think so. The new drone wouldn't have a spark, no matter what. So while he processed things like the original mech and would attach the correct emotional response to it with the proper electrical pulses and stimuli, his spark wasn't in it because he wouldn't have one.

"Spark bond?" Raf asked.

Wheeljack grumbled, waving a servo as he tried to simplify it. "It's like marriage. Ask Optimus, he's better in that region than I am."

Raf looked up again, gaping. "Optimus is married?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "Basically. Spark bonded. With a femme named Elita-One."

Raf shook his head and looked back down, feet tapping the touch screen as he navigated the datapad. "Wow . . . I never knew."

"Yeah, well . . . he doesn't talk about her much."

Wheeljack left it at that, realizing that the mech was probably sore about it and never seeing her, much less knowing if she was alive. Instead, he was thankful when Miko cut in their conversation with an exaggerated groan.

"Are you done YET Raf? Hurry up!"

Raf nodded, backing out of everything. "I think we're good to go."

"See?" Wheeljack slapped Bumblebee's back with a grin, making the scout cringe and stretch a wing. "Told ya it'd be just fine! All right, let's get this baby cranking!"

In a jiffy, Wheeljack had switched an internal switch that made Miko squeak in shock as the mechanism flared to life, optics flicking on and its little metal body sit up. "I thought you had to turn a switch!" Miko burst.

Wheeljack grinned. "Nah, Babe, switches are for old people like the Doc. I'm using electroencephalograms to control it."

Miko blinked up at him. "Electro-WHAT?"

He made a face and finally said, "EEGs, Babe. It reads the electrical currents in my processor. It's wireless."

Her jaw gaped. "That. Is. So. COOL!"

Wheeljack laughed and stood the human-sized machine up, checking its functions, moving each joint and checking for audio and sight input. He had it.

"But . . . I thought it was supposed to be human?"

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "It is, Babe." To show her, he turned on the holographic squares over the machine's body, and Miko's eyes popped as well as Raf's and Bee's as they watched a holographic skin fold over the machine, so realistic that he DID look human—

Miko screeched at the top of her lungs, closed her eyes, smacked her palms against her face, and turned away. "WHEELJACK! OH MY GOD, YOU COULDN'T HAVE PUT CLOTHES ON!"

Wheeljack jumped and cringed at the volume of her voice. Raf had turned red too, dropping his face in his hands. "Oops. Sorry, didn't think about it." He added in clothes to the image. "There. Better?"

After distrustfully looking over, she relaxed. "Yes."

"Good."

She squealed again, the sound of his voice coming through the now human holoform. "OH MY GOD, WHEELJACK!"

She jumped forward, throwing her arms around the holoform in excitement. Wheeljack's holoform chuckled at her enthusiasm, automatically reorienting to keep itself from falling over. Wheeljack crossed his bipedal mode's arms as he studied this new experiment.

Miko jumped back again, taking him in with a critical eye. "So? What'd you use for hair?"

"Optical fiber cables. They're not millionths of meters small like real human hair, but it's close."

"Wow." Miko grinned, and then she jumped forward with her hand raised. "High five, Jackie!"

The holoform grinned in response, high fiving her easily but warily, knowing that it was still made of metal and it would hurt her if he had too much force. After a second, the holoform suddenly moved and grabbed Miko's hand. He turned it over, pressing his hands on either side of her hand.

After a moment, the real Wheeljack grunted, turned off the holoform so suddenly it almost fell on Miko's foot, and announced, "I don't like it."

"What?" Miko's indignant cry split across his audio receptors. "What do you mean you don't like it?"

Raf frowned too. "What's wrong with it?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "Nothing," he said. "It works just like we planned it." He picked up the holoform that was now back to the bare metal and gears that had made it. "I just don't like it. It's too simple! I mean, look at it," and he tossed it carelessly up and down. "It's cumbersome. It's weighty, I'd have to transport it around, I'd have charge it up and it could only run until the juice is out—It's lame." In saying so, Wheeljack tossed it over his shoulder and into the bin where many other faulty holoforms rested.

Miko grumbled, crossed her arms, and scuffed her toe. "Well _I _liked it . . ."

Raf stared at what had come to fruition between his and Wheeljack's hard work sitting in the garbage stack. "B-But—You're just throwing it away? After all that work?"

Wheeljack waved a servo without care. "Sure. Unless you kiddos wanna fool around with it. You'd just have to imprint the codes for whatever Bumblebee's holoform looked like. I'm going bigger. Better. I know for a fact I don't want to have to charge it like a battery, but if . . ."

As he began to walk around his laboratory, muttering to himself through a million possibilities, Raf and Bumblebee looked at each other. There was a pause. And then, with an excited squeal, Bumblebee dashed over and grabbed the discarded holoform while Raf hurried to open his laptop to work the codes to make the holoform look like Bumblebee.

Miko watched with disgruntled disappointment as the two younger boys began in excitement to fix the holoform so they could go play. She plopped down petulantly on her butt and crossed her arms, glaring at her guardian that paced back and forth with ideas jumping around his processor.

Finally, after several minutes of him not noting her anger and disappointment, she muttered, "This is one of those moments where I can just hate your guts. If you even HAVE any guts . . ."

Wheeljack, oblivious and deep in his thoughts of science, continued to mutter with a snap of his fingers, "A human sized force field! That would simply things so much. If I could condense only certain types of minerals and atoms . . . Ah, like a molecule magnet, almost! Cold fusion could bind them together temporarily, then I could shut it off and the molecules go back to their respective places . . ."

* * *

><p>"Autobots, I have decoded the first set of the final four coordinates. Divide into teams in the event that I am able to decode another before the first team returns."<p>

"I'm on team one!" Smokescreen blurted before anyone could get a word in edgewise. "Who's with me?"

Wheeljack watched with a slight grin at Arcee's frown. "I'LL go," she stressed.

Smokescreen just nodded dutifully, saying, "After you, sir." Then, when she didn't respond, just walking towards the ground bridge, he backed up quickly with, "Ma'am." He followed her, trying to break through her shell of silence. "Commander?"

For once, Wheeljack could share in Ratchet's bemusement as he said, "THIS should be interesting . . ."

As Smokescreen and Arcee headed out, Twin Twist and Topspin grinned at each other. "Team!" they crowed, slamming their forearms together. They grinned at Wheeljack and jerked their thumbs towards the only other one left. "You get the bug, right?"

Bumblebee twittered angrily. *I'm not a bug! My name is Bumblebee!*

"Chill, half-pint," Wheeljack said easily, knocking his shoulder again. Bumblebee rubbed his arm at the unnecessary force. "They're just teasing. Wanna head to the back and have ourselves a practice spar? It'll keep us occupied while the big man's working the next Iacon coordinates."

Bumblebee's optics grew wide as dinner plates. *Yeah!* he exclaimed zealously. *Let's do it!*

Bumblebee led he was so excited, and Wheeljack just smirked at his brothers-in-arms with a salute as he took the unwanted scout in without the bat of an optic. The twins only looked slightly disgruntled that he wasn't bothered by this. After all, Wheeljack knew the kid was made of some serious brass bearings. This was the little scout that had taken out Dreadwing's brother Skyquake, after all. He could tease the scout for being young, but he knew when to show some respect where it was earned.

He soaked up Wheeljack's tips hungrily. As Wheeljack sparred with fist and ped with the scout, it suddenly occurred to him that Bumblebee had been slightly overlooked with the coming in of the twins. The scout absolutely drank up everything Wheeljack said, and belatedly, Wheeljack wished he had spent a little more time with the kid. He wanted to be a warrior like the rest of them, and he wondered how long it had been since he had had a proper lesson.

Wheeljack had a bit more fun with Bumblebee than he wanted to admit. The scout was quick, and he learned quickly with a bright little processor. What ended the lesson in a jiffy was when Arcee came back.

And only Arcee came back.

Wheeljack brooded pensively across the room as Arcee heavily recounted the events of her day, Megatron's new blade, and the brief struggle that had ensued.

"And then Smokescreen was just . . . gone. Like he had turned to dust . . ."

Wheeljack felt an annoying pang in his chassis. The kid really hadn't been that bad. What worried him the most though was how Arcee was taking it. He could see it in her slumped shoulders and her tone of voice. She was taking responsibility for his fate the way she would take responsibility for everyone's fate.

Wheeljack paused.

_Is that any different from me?_

"Arcee, do not blame yourself," he heard Ratchet say. Wheeljack could have cursed himself for being so slow as to not offer his own condolences to her. "It could have just as easily have been you—"

The sharp whir of cannons filled their audios. Wheeljack glanced over the twins. "Well, I say we go claim a piece of Megatron's miserable metal hide!" Twin Twist snapped.

"Maybe teach him a lesson or two about touching someone who's protected by the Wreckers!" Topspin growled.

"No."

The twins halted in a klik, staring at Optimus's back.

He said, "We have already lost another one of our own today." He turned, looking back at who was left. "I will not risk more lives."

There was a shadow over his optics. Wheeljack puffed out a vent as Optimus continued, "Given what Arcee witnessed, it now stands to reason Megatron possesses might to equal the Star Saber, which means only I have a chance of recovering the Omega Key."

When Optimus bridged out, Wheeljack moved across the room and sat down next to Arcee. "Hey, Doll."

He reached to her, but she moved away. "Now c'mon, Doll, don't be like that." He reached again, but she just shoved his hand away miserably, scooting even farther.

He gave a soft vent. "Doll, c'mere." He grabbed her before she could get away, and though she put up a small fight, he scooped her up into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her when she clung to him, burying her helm into his neck.

"I can't believe we were so stupid."

Wheeljack didn't say anything as Arcee shivered against him. Instead, he just traced his fingers in a small massage up and down her back as she vented her frustrations.

"If—If he would just use that Primus-given processor—! If he'd stop acting the hero—He's not! If he hadn't have run off—I've seen too many unthinking mechs die, Wheeljack . . ."

He traced his lips across the top of her helm, thanking Primus inwardly that the twins weren't bothering them for once. "What else?" he murmured softly.

"Slag it, I don't know what else!" A deceptive shudder ran through her body. "I just . . . I should have been able to do something . . ."

"You wouldn't have been able to do a thing," Wheeljack told her softly. He kissed the edge of her audio receptor. "Scrap happens in war, Arcee. You can't fix it all." For a second, he felt venom and guilt seep from his words. He pressed his helm to her head, feeling his own words rip from the deepest places inside him. "You can't control what happens in war. You've just . . . gotta forge your way ahead, remember what was lost, and fight on in their name to honor them even in death."

_I am a fool. I say one thing and act another._ He fought back a shiver until his winglets perked straight. _Crystal City . . . wasn't my fault. I couldn't have done anything at that point and time to change anything . . . Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged._

_ I said that before I even understood what it meant._

Crystal City WAS a crime worth avenging. But he had gone about trying to revenge it instead. He had had all of his morals jumbled and twisted somewhere in the war, and it had taken him this long to figure it out . . .

Where did that leave him with Dreadwing?

Arcee didn't say anything more, just curled up close to his chassis, taking his strength. It left Wheeljack to his thoughts, and he absently rocked Arcee.

Dreadwing. The catalyst of . . . almost everything. In a really sick way, he . . . owed Dreadwing. It was only because of Dreadwing killing Seaspray that Wheeljack tracked him and found his way to Earth. And it was only by coming to Earth that he had found Bulkhead and Miko.

Conflicting emotions raged in his spark. If Dreadwing hadn't killed Bulkhead, would he have ever met and connected with Miko like this? Would he have gone off on his own again? Never cared so much about Arcee? Never gown so much as a warrior through Optimus? Never . . . learned so much and fixed so many mistakes?

His internal war over Bulkhead's death waged back and forth. Sometimes, he wanted to be grateful for what Dreadwing had inadvertently given him through Bulkhead's death. Love. Friends. A greater understanding of himself. And then, he hated himself for feeling that way because Bulkhead was his best friend and the one Miko had always and ever truly needed to fill her life.

Wheeljack's arms tightened around Arcee. He wanted to think that even if Bulkhead had lived he would have grown just the same. Began a relationship with Arcee; cared deeply about Miko; became a part of team Prime? He wanted to believe it, but he remembered how much of a hot head, a loose cannon, and a loner he had been. He would have been festering in his guilt and hate to this very day if Bulkhead hadn't died.

A frustrated vent hissed from his body. And now, he didn't know if he wanted to kill Dreadwing for taking away so much and giving him even more. A blessing in disguise? With a price he didn't want to pay. Would there ever be an end to the killing? He pitied the rookie so much. He might have been annoying and rash, but he was just a kid. He should have been able to live his life and grow. He didn't deserve death so quick, just like that at the hands of a Decepticon, Megatron no less . . .

_Maybe you could tell me, Bulkhead. Am I supposed to kill Dreadwing or not? Primus knows I want to . . . and Primus knows how confused I am about this strange urge to just forget it because I'm so tired of it._

_ Sometimes, I just feel like my morals are falling to pieces. Anymore, I'm so confused about who I am and what I should do that I'd just rather give up than think about it. Ha, perhaps the Prime has been good to me. He's helped open my optics to things I didn't want to see and now, the challenge is to change those things._

_ But how am I supposed to do that?_

"Ratchet! Ground bridge!"

Optimus's harsh yell made Wheeljack snap out of his ruminations with a start and Arcee to leap up in shock. The instant Ratchet had opened the bridge they had all congregated forward to see Optimus walk through.

Optimus AND Smokescreen.

The Prime wordlessly moved off to the side, a deep gash in his leading arm's shoulder. Wheeljack blinked at the sight of the magnificent Star Saber broken into a jagged stump.

*Smokescreen?*

The rookie just grinned. He held up a golden object. "And Omega Key number one!"

Arcee just stared. "But—How? I mean—I saw you—"

He grinned mischievously and lifted his arm. "I, uh . . . decided to borrow the Phase Shifter."

Wheeljack's optics flicked to the device strapped to his wrist. And HOW had they all missed that? Come to think of it, he had missed it too . . .

Ratchet looked up sharply. "AGAIN?"

Wheeljack had to give it to the kid when he just ignored Ratchet's comment. "And good thing, too," he continued his little story. "The weight from the blast hit me like a wrecking ball! The impact must have activated the Shifter."

Wheeljack grunted. "Phased through that pyramid and looked like there was nothing left of ya."

Smokescreen grinned. "Exactly. I don't know how long I was unconscious, but when I made my way back outside, Optimus and Megatron were deep in epic throw down. I waited for the right moment to make my move."

He grunted again. Smokescreen's optics flicked to him. "You're learning."

The rookie's optics flared at Wheeljack's slight appraisal. Then, he whirled to Ratchet. "So can I keep it? I mean, it really is working out for me!"

"Fine, fine!" Ratchet said, waving his hands to calm the excited rookie down.

"YES! Signature weapon!"

Wheeljack just rolled his optics at Smokescreen's enthusiasm. Well, the kid HAD earned it with the last couple times he had used it.

Then, there was a pause as Smokescreen came to stand above the remains of the Star Saber.

"I got mine . . . but Optimus lost his."

"The balance of power shifted again."

Wheeljack shook his head. "It's the bot, not the weapon, that's important."

Ratchet nodded in agreement as Optimus moved back to the computer, already working on the next set of Iacon coordinates. "While he may have wielded the power of the ancients for only one day, Optimus does not require it to be the mightiest of warriors."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Have I ever said that I LOVED the ending of "Alpha Omega"? Yup.**

**The new idea of Wheeljack's holoform he's coming up with comes from my good friend mamabot's family, her hubby Dadimus and one of her sons, Skyslicer. Thanks so much for that banging idea! :D**

**And again, thanks for all the love and support of this story! :) Can't wait to read your reviews!**


	43. Keys and Heels and Cramps

"I'm gonna be a great warrior someday. Like Optimus."

Wheeljack shrugged while Arcee just looked fed up. "Work your aft off in training, don't act stupid, and I'm pretty sure you could get your daydreaming self to make it happen."

"Oh it will," Smokescreen said. Wheeljack blinked in surprise. "It's my destiny."

The Wrecker stared. He thought he was so stunned because the rookie said it . . . so matter-of-factly. The claim was outlandish, but he sounded so fragging sure he sounded like he was so cocky his head was up his afterburner.

*His destiny* Bumblebee chirped dubiously.

Arcee arched a brow. "How so?"

At that moment, the twins looked at each other. They grinned. "THIS should be good!"

Smokescreen just shrugged off their skeptical looks. "Well, one minute I'm one security detail on Iacon, the next I wake up on the other side of the galaxy to find myself under Optimus's command! I mean, what are the chances, right? Things happen for a reason!"

Arcee finally pinched a brow and waved him off. "We get it, Smokescreen. You're special. We're lucky to have you."

Wheeljack snorted to himself at Arcee's sarcastic tone. Smokescreen didn't really seem to care. "All I'm really saying is I've come a long way, and this is one opportunity I don't plan on messing up!"

There was a slight lull in conversation and then, "Autobots—" and every helm in the room snapped to Optimus. He turned to look at them. "The next Iacon coordinates have been decoded. Ratchet! Ready the ground bridge."

Smokescreen grinned. "Last one to the Omega Key has to scrub the energon tanks for a week!" he proclaimed.

He ran off, but the twins were hot on his tail. "Aw, no way, rookie!" and Twin Twist lunged, tackling the Elite Guard member to the ground. Smokescreen lunged and snagged Topspin's heel when he tried to run past, yanking and causing the Wrecker to yelp and go crashing to the ground. As they began to tussle for the chance to get the next Omega Key, Arcee sent an un-amused glance to Wheeljack.

"Didn't know we were keeping score."

As Smokescreen's indignant shout of, "No fair! Two against one!" rang out, Wheeljack just grinned and winked at Arcee, moving around to get a better look at the wrestling match that Smokescreen was losing by a long shot. "Hey, if Elite Guard poses a challenge like that to Wreckers, you can bet your pretty little aft that we're gonna whup him at his game."

Before Wheeljack could join in on Smokescreen's punishment, Optimus's voice carried sharply across the room, "Wheeljack, Bumblebee, prepare to roll out."

Bumblebee whooped. *Aw, yeah, action!*

Twin Twist, Topspin, and Smokescreen all froze on the floor, Topspin in a headlock, Twin Twist wrenching Smokescreen's door wing, Smokescreen's other arm trying to pull Twin Twist's legs from around HIS neck, and Topspin with both fists clenched together and elbow lifted to drive into Smokescreen's gun. "WHAT?" they all three chorused at once, and only Smokescreen's voice carried on with, "What about me?"

Arcee snorted as he had obviously forgotten his partner. Wheeljack waltzed by with Bumblebee as he backtracked quickly, "I mean, me and Arcee."

"The four of you will stay here in the event that I am able to decode a subsequent database entry before the others return."

When it looked like Smokescreen wanted to say something more, Ratchet added, "Optimus is right. Considering the very fate of Cybertron is at stake, response time is critical."

Wheeljack laughed and grinned as he and Bumblebee moved up to the twinkling lights of the ground bridge. "Keep your engine idling, kid," he took a last parting jab at the rookie. He gave him a mock salute. "DESTINY awaits!"

To Wheeljack's utter surprise as he transformed down, Bumblebee laughed, pointed his fingers at the three eager ones getting left behind, and winked while hollering, *Take that, BEE-otches!"

Wheeljack bellowed with laughter as they drove out. "Atta boy, half-pint!" Bumblebee tinkled with happy laughter as they bridged out to a lakeside, and Wheeljack led out, transforming up. After casting his optics about the place, he froze.

*Look, Wheeljack!* And he could feel the scout pointing past him. *Over there!*

The Omega Key sat right out in the open. If someone had enough time to find it and open it and plant it right out as bait . . . Wheeljack pulled his ion cannons instantly. This was a trap.

The voice of the trap made himself known. "Well well!" Knockout drawled as he waltzed into sight. "Only ONE of the Autobots I wanted to see," and he set his red optics on Wheeljack, "but I'm sure you can share this with your femme glitch."

Wheeljack's gaze flattened. He reached up and drew his blades. "I'll handle the mad doc," Wheeljack drawled out. He let his battle mask slide into place. "You fetch that pretty little key."

*Got it!*

Wheeljack's optics flicked to Knockout's arm when he heard the Decepticon's weapons engage. "I've been waiting to thank you both for all the—" Wheeljack's optics widened—"memories." And he found himself staring down the Resonance Blaster.

_Frag._

At the last second, as the sound waves blasted across the open, Wheeljack tried to dodge, only to be lambasted in the front by crushing waves of energy. The force hit like a freight train, and Wheeljack grunted, thrown on his back, optics glitching and audios ringing so sharply it was nothing but white noise.

_Holy HELL that packs a fragging punch!_

He heard the thunderous blast of the Resonance Blaster activated again, and he knew Bumblebee had taken the brunt of that blow, only this time, the ringing didn't stop. Gritting his dentures, Wheeljack staggered back up to his peds to see Bumblebee pinned beneath the weight of the sound waves, cracking his armor it was so heavy. Trying to be cautious for once in his life—as he had borne the brunt of the Resonance Blaster before—Wheeljack banked around first for a blind shot at Knockout's back and ran full throttle to him.

"Who knew SOUND WAVES could be such a—" he turned sharply. "KNOCK OUT!" and Wheeljack shouted, voice lost in the bursting thunder of the Resonance Blaster as the sound waves crashed into him with such force that he dropped his blades and felt himself fly back, pushed back by the sound waves, and then he came to a sudden halt, the rock face wall lambasting into him. Wheeljack yelled in pain, spasming slightly when one of his sensitive winglets was crushed at an awkward angle. He struggled to lift up, unable to move beneath the weight of the sound waves rocking into him.

_Fraggit all!_

"BEE!" he roared, hoping that the Resonance Blaster didn't rip away the dynamics of his voice. "THE RELIC!"

The pressure suddenly released, and Wheeljack collapsed to a knee, leaking from the mouth from where he had bitten his glossia. His audio receptors shrilled sharply with indistinct noise as his body recalibrated. He struggled up to his peds, processor aching something mighty as he pinpointed where the relic was and set off towards it, sending sharp glances to Knockout.

The Decepticon medic muttered to himself. "How LOW can it go?"

Wheeljack felt the blast through his peds this time, and he looked up in shocked surprise when the sound waves billowed out in every direction. They crashed both into him and Bumblebee, knocking them both away from the objective and slamming them into the rock wall.

"Subwoofer? Or Depth Charge?"

The waves stopped for a second. Wheeljack gasped, shock spreading through his systems, and then, the Resonance Blaster sounded again, a dull thump in his maxed-out audio receptors. Rubble broke. A heavy rock slammed into his front, and he lost consciousness.

He came to, optics fritzing and in cycles choking on dust. With a shuddering groan, Wheeljack coerced his servos into motion and shoved against the boulder pinning him with all his might. It crashed soundlessly to the ground.

"Bumblebee!" He staggered a step out and almost buckled to his knees. He locked his legs, glitching optics trying to recalibrate. "Bumblebee! Hey, half-pint! Where are you?"

He was shouting. He was certain of it. He just couldn't hear it. For a moment, Wheeljack worried that the Resonance Blaster had actually done damage to his audios, but then, the dull ache of his hearing returning set in.

His optics cleared up. He stumbled his way over to the empty bin, the Omega Key and Knockout long gone.

"Scrap. That was fast."

They hadn't even lasted a minute against him with that Resonance Blaster. Wheeljack looked over to see Bumblebee hobbling towards him with his katanas in hand. When the scout proffered them, Wheeljack took them with a nod of thanks, unable to really tell if the scout was speaking. He thought he could hear faint warbles.

Wheeljack patted his shoulder lightly. "Don't worry about it," he said, though he felt like he was trying to speak through a tunnel. "We were out of our league with him using that toy. Scrap happens." He touched his comm. link. "Hey, Doc," he said, "we're gonna need a bridge."

He faintly heard Ratchet's voice through the other end. His brow furrowed as he tried to make it out. "What?" And then, he scoffed. "You know what, never mind, I can't hear a fragging thing you're saying anyways. If the Resonance Blaster didn't cause permanent damage to our audio receptors, I think we'll be doing good."

And then, as the ground bridge blasted open, it suddenly occurred to Wheeljack what Ratchet had said. He had probably asked why he was yelling, because at the decibel level his voice had been at just a moment ago, he had probably been yelling.

He moved Bumblebee in first, letting the scout get taken away by Ratchet to be treated. Wheeljack groaned softly—or at least, he thought it sounded soft—and sat down on a medical berth. He slouched back against the wall, easing the stress on his body.

"Sorry, Optimus," he said with a small shrug and a wince. "Knockout was there waiting for the ambush. Wasn't that that caught me off guard, it was that fragging Resonance Blaster." He grunted in frustration. Part of restoring Cybertron had just slipped through their fingers. "The 'Con's decoding skills must be getting better."

"And it seems," he heard Ratchet's muffled voice, "that with two keys already separated, no one currently possesses the means to revive Cybertron."

"While our quest to restore our planet may have reached a stalemate, securing the remaining keys is still the most prudent course of action."

Wheeljack blinked when even Optimus's commanding voice seemed a bit distant. That Resonance Blaster was LOUD. And painful.

Movement from Smokescreen caught his attention. "Man, it must've been crazy with Knockout going all sonic! Aw, I wish I'd been there! I woulda—"

Did he want to run that by him again? "Would have what?" Wheeljack snapped and interrupted him—probably loudly, if judging by his muffled audio receptors. "Recovered the key like you did the first one?"

Smokescreen froze. "Maybe."

Wheeljack laughed once, harsh. "Rich, kid, that's just RICH."

"Who knows?" Smokescreen tried to play him off, too psyched about the thought of glory to even pause to think. "I just want us to be firing on all cylinders! You know, now that the Star Saber's gone. And I have a pretty good track record so far."

_He. Did not._

Wheeljack's optics narrowed. He glared murderously from the medical berth. "Kid," he stressed, "If you don't move away right now, I'm gonna knock your articulators out."

There was a beat in which Smokescreen DIDN'T move away because he was taken aback by Wheeljack's vehemence and didn't quite process it right. In that same beat, Twin Twist and Topspin looked at each other and to the rookie and then to Wheeljack.

They jumped just as Wheeljack lunged. He was easily subdued since he was already weakened from the Resonance Blaster. Wheeljack snarled a moment, fighting. He backhanded Twin Twist's jaw before Topspin clouted him across his hurt and sensitive audio receptors. He shouted and he let the twins pin him back down on the berth, but he glared at Smokescreen.

"I so swear if you open that conceited little mouth of yours again I'm gonna teach you a lesson you'll never forget."

Smokescreen blinked in shock at his aggressive behavior. Wheeljack just scowled and shoved the twins off. Twin Twist reached for him again, but Wheeljack slapped his hand away with an equally foul frown. "Touch me again and I will maim you."

Twin Twist vented sharply, growling back, "And if you keep torquing me off I'll make sure to shove your audio receptors so far up your aft you'll be blinking out the wrong end."

Wheeljack just snarled dangerously before stalking out of the room. While his twin fumed at Wheeljack, Topspin turned his frown on Smokescreen. "Look, kid. Wheeljack and Bumblebee are no slouchers. And Prime managed just fine for eons with that big pretty sword."

Twin Twist scoffed and turned back around. "Of course, you wouldn't know about that. You've been locked in stasis the whole time we've been fighting this war."

"EXACTLY!" Smokescreen said in frustration. "And I'm ready to make up for lost time!"

"When Optimus SAYS you're ready!" Topspin snapped. "You gotta be in this for the long haul."

"Slow and steady wins the race."

And, it was at moments like these that Optimus did NOT envy his brother for being leader of the Wreckers. They were more likely to kill each other in a fit of anger than the Decepticons had a chance!

* * *

><p><em>"Wheeljack!" <em>Miko whined in his audio receptors. "I miss you! You're never around anymore!"

Wheeljack looked up in surprise on the Jackhammer. He blinked out the windshield as he said over the phone, "I'm around. We just saw each other the other day."

Miko made a frustrated sound over the line. "I KNOW that Jackie. I KNOW. I'm just saying . . . Well, you're never around! When was the last time we went dune bashing?"

"Uh—"

"See? EXACTLY! Now come on! I'm kidnapping you!"

Wheeljack, in the process of exiting the Jackhammer, snorted. He stopped short. "You're kidnapping me."

"Yes," Miko said stubbornly from over the phone. "I'm kidnapping you. Get over here! You're taking me to the store! And bring the holoform!"

Wheeljack rolled his optics as he began to walk to the elevator down to base. "First of all, I think Bumblebee's still got the holoform. And two, the store?"

Miko made another exaggeratedly frustrated sound. "FINE. No holoform. But yes, the STORE! Mrs. Davis gave me money to get my prom dress! Prom's in TWO WEEKS Jackie! I've got to get my dress!"

"All right, all right," he said with a slight laugh as he entered the silo. "Don't have a meltdown, Babe, I'm coming. Give me ten."

"Okay. But hurry up!"

Wheeljack just rolled his optics to the heavens as he walked by Arcee. "Something wrong?" she asked.

Wheeljack snorted. "Hardly. I've just been . . . coerced into another thing I'd rather not do."

"Wheeljack!" Twin Twist and Topspin grinned at him, waving him to the ground bridge with them. "C'mon! Our turn for fetching the Omega Keys! Let's do it Wrecker style!"

He just laughed and waved them off. "Nah. I'm getting kidnapped by Miko."

Their jaws dropped. "WHAT?"

He grinned rakishly. "Take the rookie if you wanna," Wheeljack said, and he grabbed the kid by his shoulder, shoving him so hard towards the two Wreckers that he yelped and stumbled. "Since he obviously is gonna get all those keys, let him tag along. I get to go dress shopping."

As he transformed into his alt mode, Wheeljack drove out of the silo hearing Topspin laugh loudly and shout, "I think you'd look fabulous in a dress, Blinky! Make sure and send us pictures!"

Wheeljack just snorted as he sped out of the base and hurried his little aft to Miko's house. He knew he'd be crucified if she didn't get all day for this excursion.

And, as Miko piled in excitedly, Wheeljack could only silently thank Bumblebee a thousand times over that he had the holoform so that he didn't have to go gallivanting into all the different stores of the mall with her.

Granted, that didn't mean he escaped it.

_How about this one?_

He stared at the dress on her that accompanied her text. Green was a good color for her. The flowers were cute, he supposed. Finally, after a moment, he sent back, _That ones nice._

Miko's response was, _Ew. No it wont work nice isnt going to cut it_

The sun was hot today. Wheeljack sat cramped in his alt form in the parking lot where Miko had left him. She had better be glad he liked her or else he wouldn't be sitting here.

_What about this?_

He processed it slowly. It cinched at her knees and flared out wide, and it made her hips look bigger. The bright orange was almost blinding._ I don't think so._

_Good! Cause i cant move my knees much and my boobs are freaking bedazzled_

_ Miko. Too much information_

He vented in boredom as he sat in the parking lot. How long was this going to take? Primus why hadn't he taken Topspin and Twin Twist's advice to go on that mission with them?

_Okay now i feel like a peacock_

He felt his insides recoil at the flamboyant print._ Agreed. Please dont_

He attracted a fair amount of attention out here in the parking lot. People kept admiring him. He got a little worried when people took pictures sometimes, but couldn't help that he attracted attention. With beauty came fame, was he right, or what?

_Hahaha what about this one?_

Wheeljack gaped. The print was as wild as Miko would want it. There was a skirt down to her feet, but the top was skin. There were some straps crisscrossing, but that was about it.

_NOT UNLESS YOU PLAN ON WEARING A DRESS WITH THAT._

He got a big message full of laughter for his aggressive response, but he just grumbled to himself and settled back on his haunches in irritation. She didn't need to be wearing a dress like that. Even though he knew she was just screwing with him, it still got his feathers in a ruffle.

_BIG AND GREEN_

Wheeljack would have blinked if he had been in his alt mode. She looked like . . . a giant, green, STARK GREEN human cupcake. The skirt was so poofy she looked like she got swallowed in it. And . . . PAINFUL green.

_Please tell me no_

_ Its a no dont worry_

Wheeljack flinched when a door popped his side. The person that had parked next to him jumped and made a face before getting out quickly and checking him for a dent or scratch, and he heard them exhale slowly in relief that they hadn't damaged his paint. Wheeljack grumbled lowly when they walked away, the growl rattling his hood. This day was getting better and better.

_Here do you like this?_

Wheeljack felt himself more impressed with this one. Floor length and strapless, the purple looked very good on Miko. And the purple ribbon around her waist was a good touch.

_I like that one. It's pretty._

_I thought so too i'll remember it_

Wheeljack silently groaned. He had thought she was going to get it. She liked it, he liked it, so WHY didn't she get it?

_Do you not like it?_

_ No i like it i just dont know if its the one or not im pretty sure id know_

Wheeljack muttered irritably to himself. So what if it was a little princess-y for her? It looked good on her . . .

I FEEL PINK AND FLUFFY

Wheeljack almost winced. The skirt was ENTIRELY made up of a fluffy feathers that puffed up the dress everywhere.

_Please no_

Wheeljack waited again, and finally, he got another message asking about her dress. He considered it heavily, the scrunches in the skirt and the faint bedazzles here and there and it being black.

_You want black?_

_ Thats what i thought and its kinda boring anyway_

Wheeljack huffed to himself. Were all girls like this? She was as bad as she had been on her period. She was switching stores, so it was taking her longer to send her next message. Wheeljack shifted uncomfortably, getting hotter and hotter as he sat out in the sun.

_How about this one?_

Wheeljack felt his spark skip a beat. The red was vibrant, high in the front above her knees and swooping low in the back. The silky look of it really fit her body type well, and though her hair was pink, it still looked the best.

_I like that one._

Miko didn't reply this time, and Wheeljack brooded to himself in irritation. She should just get that one and be done with it. How long had he been out here? An hour? Two?

_I bet you like this one better_

Wheeljack sputtered in the effort not to laugh out loud at the ugly dull salmon pink of the dress and dull urine yellow flowers that decorated over her boobs and around the waist.

_Babe that is the single UGLIEST dress I have ever seen in my life._

A few more dresses, and Miko pleaded a lunch break. Wheeljack sat. Then, once she finished eating, proceeded to try on more dresses. So Wheeljack sat. And sat. And baked in the sun and cramped up and sat. She began to lean towards getting a plain purple dress, short and with some rhinestones on the chest with pockets. Miko admitted that she liked the pockets about it the best since she wouldn't have to lug around a purse, but then, he got this message:

_This is the one._

Wheeljack looked at her in the dress and felt his spark stop. Yeah. That one was it. It was a high low dress, above her knees in the front and low around her ankles in the back. It was ruffly, just loud enough to suit her style but not overtly fluffy and not made of feathers. There were just enough bedazzles to make her sparkle, and the strapless look would suit her well, lacing up in the back like a corset. She would even be able to move in it.

And green like Bulkhead.

_That's the one,_ he sent her back. Thank Primus. Now they could get out of here—

_Great its in my price range too. Now to find some matching nail polish_

Wheeljack sat. After a disbelieving moment, he groaned aloud and sank down on his haunches, uncaring of who would see or hear. This day just kept getting longer and LONGER.

It took her the better part of an hour to find a nail polish. And yet another better part of an hour or two to look for heels before she decided to "screw high heels" and got a pair of black combat boots.

Finally, FINALLY that night, Wheeljack drove a happy but tired Miko back home.

He shuddered when she said she was glad she had gotten it all in one day.

Wheeljack drove back to base, breaking a couple of speed laws along the way and nearly got blindsided by Smokescreen on the way there. He swore, swerving to avoid the rookie, but the kid hurtled past without stopping. He idled his engines, considering going after the hot rod, but finally chose against it and just booked his way back to base. PIT he needed to stretch or else his legs were going to seize up and never be the same again . . .

Wait—Wheeljack slammed on the breaks when Laserbeak soared above head and passed him by. Laserbeak? He threw himself into reverse and whipped around, following the disappearing bird. What was that tinfoil turkey doing out here? He'd bested that little snitch once, he could damn well do it again!

Wheeljack sped forward, seeing Smokescreen transform ahead in the road, aiming at the 'Con. Wheeljack revved harder. He was NOT about to let some uppity Elite Guard member take down the 'Con he had his sights—

A thunderous blast popped Wheeljack's audio receptors, and he slammed on his breaks when he saw familiar sound waves blast Smokescreen out of the road. His tires screeched as the rookie tumbled to a still halt, completely unconscious.

_FRAGGIT ALL!_

Wheeljack transformed up, seeing Soundwave's slim form. He lunged, narrowing dodging the next waving blast that rippled the air and drew his ion cannons, taking several shots with his war cry. Soundwave dodged with eerie grace, and Wheeljack felt his left leg seizing up in agony, having been locked in his alt form all day.

_Fraggit, if I start cramping now—!_

Wheeljack left the sentence unfinished as he threw himself to he side, sound waves rocking so close he felt the air around him distorting. He gritted his dentures, pivoting and ignoring the pain that flared as he aimed his ion cannons-

A thunderous blast, the image of the sound waves, and Wheeljack was hit point blank with the Resonance Blaster.

* * *

><p>Wheeljack came to with a groan. He felt himself supported by two mechs. He opened his optics, watching as they recalibrated and tried to get his legs to work. The left one kept seizing painfully, and he realized he was cramped so hard he could barely walk.<p>

_A fragging cramp. My day has been ruined by a cramp._

Twin Twist and Topspin were the ones helping him. They were grinning. They were both laughing and saying something, and Wheeljack grumbled to himself, thankful for once that the Resonance Blaster had rendered his ringing audio receptors momentarily deafened.

They weren't ever going to let him live this down.

Topspin moved in close to his audio receptor when the sat him on the medical berth, and Wheeljack faintly heard his shout through a deep tunnel.

"You shoulda just stayed in your alt and rammed him!"

Wheeljack scowled and pushed his face away, and they were ever further shooed away by Ratchet. Wheeljack hissed and strained when Ratchet began to stretch the cramp away. His optics flicked over the base.

"Where's the rookie?"

His voice was a bit muffled still. They all shifted. Arcee most of all. Wheeljack's optics narrowed. He waved Ratchet off a second.

"He got him, didn't he?"

"More than that, Wheeljack," he heard Optimus say gravely. "He also took the last Omega Key."

Wheeljack shifted, standing up. He frowned. "So it's a stalemate then. We've got two, and the 'Cons've got two."

They all shifted again. Optimus shook his head. "No, Wheeljack. The Decepticons have three."

Wheeljack blinked. He looked towards his Wrecking mates. Topspin looked away and Twin Twist did the same. "Dreadwing was there," Twin Twist finally said.

Wheeljack froze.

Topspin gave a slight shrug. "So y'know, we double teamed him, and sent the rookie off to get the Omega Key . . ."

Twin Twist shook his head. "We handled Dreadwing easy together. But he must have had backup. Or . . . something. Smokes got sucker punched right in the back. Never saw it coming."

Wheeljack gave a slow, calculated vent to control all the emotions broiling up in his chassis. "So . . . did you kill him?"

The twins exchanged a look. Finally, Topspin shook his head. "No."

"Don't get us wrong," Twin Twist said. "We could have. Knocked out and as vulnerable as a sparkling. But . . . That's your kill. We aren't gonna take that from you."

With a frustrated vent, Wheeljack paced away, rubbing a servo behind his neck. He stretched his neck and shook his head.

"No. You . . . should have just taken the chance to kill him when you had it."

There was a heavy pause in the silo. Finally, Twin Twist nodded. "Duly noted."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Insult of the day goes to Twin Twist: "And if you keep torquing me off I'll make sure to shove your audio receptors so far up your aft you'll be blinking out the wrong end."**

**LOVE.**

**Also, Miko's prom dress, remove the astriks * thingys: ht*tp*:*/*www*.dressilyme*.*com*/*p-dr*eamy-o*rgan za-s*atin-p*rincess-s*trapless-sw*eetheart-n*eckli ne-h*igh-l*ow-be*aded-p*rom-g*own-21987*.*html**

**(good Lord Almighty fanfic is DEDICATED to making sure you can't post a link) *shakes fist***


	44. Close to the Spark

**Author's Note:**

**Lots of love to all my watchers and reviewers! :) I'd been meaning to put this little plot twist in somewhere and couldn't for the life of me find where to stick it, and here it is! Major bro times too ;)**

* * *

><p>He could understand why Arcee was kicking him out tonight. After all, he had had a nightmare centered on the three that had plagued his moments so much; Dreadwing, Bulkhead, and Miko. So he had come to her to cuddle—a plus for both of them since Arcee had relived her time in the torture chambers again.<p>

Arcee's nightmares had departed. Wheeljack's had intensified.

She woke him up twice because of his cries and moans, and this time, she forced him out, telling him that she wasn't going to be able to get a solid recharge or else would risk functioning like a zombie in the morning. Wheeljack could sympathize. He knew she was still guilty over tongue-lashing Smokescreen so thoroughly, what had initially led him to run from the base in a huff and get captured.

Wheeljack stumbled out of Arcee's room and bumped right into Ratchet. The expression on his face mirrored his own: horrified. Just to add to it, they both headed down the hallway together silently and then both tried to get into the energon stash together. Like a comedy routine, they almost got themselves stuck. One doorway, two bots.

"Doc, it's plain physics: two objects can't occupy the same place at the same time."

"Then move your fat aft."

"It's not my aft that's stuck, it's your stiff shoulders."

"And your ego."

Wheeljack felt himself physically deflate. "Not tonight . . ." he muttered, and he pulled back. Ratchet stumbled forward without Wheeljack's body wedging him in.

Ratchet's helm sunk too. "Same here." Ratchet reached forward and took a cube for himself. Looking back at the sunk Wrecker, he passed it over and grabbed another. Neither drank. Both looked into the depths and just stared.

"I've got high-grade in my room if it will help," the doctor responds. If Wheeljack hadn't been so sickened by his consecutive nightmares, he might have laughed and teased the medic for having it. Instead, he visibly shuddered violently. "That bad?"

Instead, Wheeljack handed the cube back to Ratchet, knowing that the energon wasn't going to stay down if he drank it. As he began to walk away, he heard Ratchet's voice.

"Wheeljack . . . Can I talk to you?"

Wheeljack turned back and stared. The old Doc-Bot needed a sounding board and chose him? He blinked. Ratchet scuffed a toe. "I know you understand how complicated relationships with humans can be and, well . . . how weird dreams can be. Maybe as a fellow scientist who has been experimented on . . . you can . . ." He shook his head and shrugged. "Never mind."

Wheeljack reached back over and took the second cube from Ratchet. "Not here. Let's go for a walk."

Ratchet sighed with relief and followed Wheeljack to the lift to the top of the silo. Once there, the two walked into the moonless night with their cubes. It was good that it was dark. Their expressions would be shaded in the murky dark and give them at least a bit of confidentiality. Even though it was Ratchet who asked for the confessional, Wheeljack started.

"I had a horrific dream," Wheeljack said. Ratchet hummed in agreement to his own nightmare. "Three consecutive ones, actually. The first one—" Wheeljack waved his hand and grunted. "Normal. Just some cracked up slag with Dreadwing and Bulkhead and Miko. As scary as those get, I'm used to them. It was . . . the two after that scared me the most. I think they might have scared me more because they went hand in hand . . ."

Wheeljack paused. Then, he continued, "So after all that Pit I went through to help that twerp get her frilly getup . . . she took forever to get herself primped and primed." Ratchet couldn't help but snort a bit at that. "So FINALLY that Bulkhead-green femme makes her way out to me. I get her and that fluffy tail of hers all tucked in and carefully belted in so not to damage one damned plastic doodad, and we're on our way to pick up Mister Jackson Darby."

Wheeljack felt a shudder chase down his back. He took a sip of his drink and instantly regretted that he did. "Oh Primus . . ." He felt his hands shaking, almost sloshing the drink out. "It was awful." Wheeljack had to stop and he put a hand on the canyon wall. He felt Ratchet laid a hand on his normally arrogant shoulder as his throat worked around such real grief. He shrugged off the medic's hand, trying to be dignified as he muttered, "Damn, this is stupid. It was only a dream."

He moved on, but Ratchet didn't. "Hurts like it was real, doesn't it?"

Wheeljack stopped and turned back. He stared at the medic's glowing optics. "Yeah, it does. Are we cracking up?"

Ratchet snorted. "If we are, at least we aren't alone."

He rolled his optics. "I don't know what's worse. Cracking up alone or with you, Ratchet the Hatchet."

For once, Ratchet sniggered at his nickname. "Go on, what happened, you loose bag of bolts."

That chill took his spark again. "We were doing the speed limit and minding our own business when BLAM!" Ratchet jumped at the shout and bursting fingertips in his face. "Some moron in a jacked up, badass diesel pick up slams right into me and shoves me off the road, over a ravine, and into a canal." He shivered, winglets perking straight, and he chose to tell the rest in one quick, frightened sentence. "I kept flipping and tumbling, I felt my armor crushing in, body get beat up and ruined, the windshield shattered in, Miko was screaming, I felt her blood spattering all over me, and then, in the middle of a scream, she suddenly stopped and—and I smacked into the water surface and woke up."

His knees felt weak. He felt himself sink to the ground, trembling again and tanks rolling in revulsion as he fought the urge to purge. His spark seized up again, like it was trying to disconnect itself at the memory. Ratchet knelt beside him and put a firm hand on the back of his helm, massaging his neck. "Shh, slow and easy, 'Jack. Slow deep breaths and keep your helm down."

Wheeljack sat the energon cube on the ground before he spilled it, and both hands reached up, one clenching at his forehead and the other at his chassis. "Ratchet," he hissed quietly. "My spark hurts right like it was real . . . I feel it separating."

Carefully, Ratchet reached a hand over and rubbed slow, warm circles over Wheeljack's chest. The Wrecker oddly didn't push him away, a tantamount to his terror. Somehow, trying to heal Wheeljack's spark at this moment eased his own aching spark.

"What happened?"

Wheeljack snorted, looking away. "What do you think? Arcee calmed me down and I went back to recharge." He paused. A tremble ran through him. "But I was brought right back to the same dream. It was dark and mucky and . . . I couldn't feel her. I know two sets of hands pulled me out from under that damned truck and out of the canal's depths, but I don't know if it was you or Optimus. Not that it really mattered." Wheeljack looked up suddenly. "Sorry Doc." A sheepish smirk twisted his lips up. "I was in critical condition again and you tried to save this dumb aft yet again."

Ratchet snorted at what he was saying—that even in a dream, Wheeljack didn't want to be a burden to him and give him more work to do. He plunked his aft in the dirt, leaned back on straight arm and stretched crossed ankles. "Ah well Wheeljack, you do know how to make things interesting, I'll give you that."

Wheeljack yet again snorted. He crossed his own legs Indian style, considering taking a drink of his own energon. "Well, Optimus tried to let me down easy and let me know it wasn't my fault, but still . . . Miko was dead from the crash, and if not from that, drowning, and I couldn't save her from something as simple as an idiot drunken human driving a pickup."

"Sure he was drunk?"

Wheeljack scowled. "Maybe he was texting or even doing both, I don't care, the point is . . ." His voice faltered. He turned away and shook his head. "Miko was dead under my care. I couldn't protect my charge." He gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head and feeling chills run up and down his protoform. The old spark break that had once healed over began to fester.

Wheeljack looked down at the dirt, shivering. "I let all your hard work go to waste," he whispered quietly. His winglets sagged in defeat, spark shivering in its casing as he once again tried to reason with himself that it was just a dream. "I . . . pulled the plug myself when no one was looking. When I knew you were too far away to save my worthless spark . . ."

He quaked slightly, remembering the dream that played so vividly in my mind's eye: the darkness of the back room, the glow of his spark the only light filling his darkness, dim and weak, cracked and bleeding. He took his own hand, reaching in, and though the wires of his spark made him twitch when his hand gripped the extremely sensitive wiring, he YANKED.

Vital lines were torn free. They ripped and snapped, gushing his life's blood across the floor, the energon staining bright on his optics and agony lacing through his entire being.

And then, he did it again.

His spark fell into cardiac arrest the second time, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. His hands scrabbled on his insides, ripping and tearing and jerking every wire he could find free. His fingers ground deep bleeding grooves into his chassis, and he coated himself in his own energon, weeping and breaking apart as he waited for death's forlorn claws to take him.

He shuddered again, feeling his spark react violently at the thought of the vivid memory of the dream. Hissing, he reached up his hands, pressing on his violate spark, repeating to himself that it was just a dream, it wasn't real.

"Wheeljack."

He jerked sharply and his head snapped to Ratchet. Seeing the medic's blue optics, Wheeljack tried to take deeper in cycles to calm himself. Finally, Ratchet said, "I . . . If you don't mind, I'd like to run a few tests on you."

Wheeljack blinked. "Tests?" he finally rasped.

Ratchet nodded, frowning slightly. "Yes. Your spark has been . . . VERY violate in regards to Miko, and if a dream has affected you this much . . . I think you may be more connected to Miko than I originally thought."

Wheeljack stared. "What?"

Ratchet picked up the energon cubes and stood, gesturing. "Come on. To my lab."

Wheeljack followed dumbly. As they rode the elevator, he finally asked, "Right now? In the middle of the night?"

"Clearly we don't have anything better to do."

He winced a little at the reminder of the haunting nightmares. He dutifully sat on the berth as Ratchet hooked him up to a computer, ran a scan, and handed him back his energon.

"Here. Drink."

Wheeljack did so, brows cinching. He swirled it, looking down at his haggard reflection. "So? Doc? You never did tell me what got you so spooked."

Ratchet scoffed slightly and turned to his computers, assessing the current condition of Wheeljack's spark. "Maybe I'm not as open with matters of the spark as you are."

He gaped before frowning. "Now c'mon, Doc, you know that's not fair."

The medic grunted. "Maybe when you stop calling me Doc."

"All right, RATCHET, what's up?"

His fingers didn't pause on the keys of his computer. "I was in a holoform."

Wheeljack raised a brow. Now that he hadn't expected. "You were?"

Ratchet gave a nod, moving the details of Wheeljack's spark around for a clear look at everything. "Yes. Stuck in my holoform, in fact. I was teaching Raf about our sparks. I was using myself as an example." He paused. His fingers stilled. Wheeljack watched his shoulders slump and his head cant downwards.

"It . . . was foolish. And I can't even remember now how it happened . . . but somehow Raf got trapped in my spark chamber." He choked slightly. "I couldn't call anyone. No one was in the base but us. I beat and beat on my chassis until I grabbed a wrench. I beat at myself. I tried to force the doors open." He vented sharply. "It felt like I was trying to tear my ribs open. I wrenched and pulled and beat on my chest until he stopped screaming and banging back. And then, when I finally did get the casing open . . ."

He watched Ratchet reach up briefly to his face and the medic's hand shake before he rested it on the computer. "It was too late. The radiation did its damage and . . . killed him. Blistered and withered . . . I woke up before I found out what I was going to do to myself. Maybe I would have wedged the doors open and impaled my spark with something and let myself bleed out and waste away. I don't know."

"Primus Ratchet," Wheeljack whispered, optics widening in shock. "I'm sorry." He knew what radiation exposure could do to human flesh—locked in their spark chambers, all the radiation collected in a confined area. Deadly. When the doors were open, they found that oxygen helped nullify the radiation. Therefore, it was logical that Ratchet would show Raf his spark to teach him about them and Raf wouldn't get hurt. But to know he had killed the one he cared about with his very life that was meant to bond and bind lives . . .

Finally, after a beat of silence, Ratchet's servos began to move again and type notes on the screen. "I killed him," he finally said flatly. "I'm a healer, Wheeljack, and I killed someone I had sworn to protect. I . . . don't think I could have lived with myself."

Without a word, Wheeljack reached out and gripped a caring and compassionate hand. Ratchet squeezed back before he shooed his hand off so he could focus on his work.

Soon, a rumble of amusement rippled from the medic. "I woke up when I fell off the berth. Damn floor is hard."

Wheeljack snickered back. "Tell me about it. Think I dented a hip plate."

The two nemesis/friends chuckled slightly together.

"Dreaming sucks."

"I second that."

"Got anything to fix that?"

"Nope, you?"

"Not yet. Still working on it."

"Well, hurry up, Genius."

"I could say the same to you, Chief Medical Officer."

"Damn."

"Double damn."

Finally, after a moment, Ratchet turned back to Wheeljack. "Call Miko."

He blinked. "What?"

Ratchet nodded. "Experimental purposes. Just have her tell you she loves you and have her hang up. I don't want to keep her up."

Wheeljack frowned, but nodded. "All right." Following the medic's orders, Wheeljack dialed Miko as the medic attached one more mechanism to him. After several rings, she picked up, voice groggy with sleep.

"H'lo?"

"Miko?"

There was a pause. Finally, she yawned and muttered, "Dad, it's 2:49 and a Tuesday morning. I have school tomorrow . . ."

Wheeljack felt his spark melt at the sound of her voice and her term of endearment. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "Just wanted to hear your voice, that's all. Can you tell me you love me?"

There was another pause and then a soft, husky chuckle. "You WOULD be cute in the middle of the fragging night . . . Love you, Dad."

A little smile played at his lips. "All right. Get some sleep, Babe."

"Aww, no love you for me?"

Wheeljack looked up at Ratchet whose attention was focused solely on the readings feeding through the computer. Though he wasn't paying him any attention, Wheeljack felt himself ruddy up a little as he muttered quietly, "Love you too, Babe."

She giggled softly at his embarrassment. "All right. Night."

"Night."

He hung up, looking to Ratchet questioningly. He knew he was reading how his spark reacted to Miko. He just wanted to know what the results of his little experiment were.

After a moment, the medic grunted and gestured. "Come here. Look at this."

Being careful not to pull any connections free of his chassis, Wheeljack moved up next to Ratchet, peering around his shoulder. Ratchet pointed to the graph, thick with jagged and irregular oranges and reds. "This was you before you called Miko. You're spark was dipping towards the critical ranges. Granted, it was nothing like what I was dealing with when you last encountered Dreadwing, but this is alarming enough." Then, he pulled up a window next to that one, calmed with serene blues alive with large swooping curves. Tranquil. "This is you when you were talking with Miko." He pointed to the largest, brightest curve. "That's when she told you she loved you."

Though he knew it was true, Wheeljack arched a brow at Ratchet. "And how'd you figure that?"

Ratchet snorted. "As if it wasn't obvious . . ." he muttered, and Wheeljack felt his lips pull into a smirk. Ratchet pulled up another graph that was still in motion. "This is you now. Just a bit more calm than the average readings for your spark."

Wheeljack shrugged. "So? You're the doctor. You tell me what it means."

Ratchet harrumphed before pulling up yet another screen. "Here," and Ratchet pointed to his sloital artery. "Your sloital artery's energies are different. That's the standard for having made a bond." He fished through some old files and pulled up one for Bumblebee. "See here?" And he pointed to Bumblebee's sloital artery. Wheeljack's brows rose with the clear difference. "He hasn't bonded to anyone. If he had, it would look more like yours."

The CMO turned to Wheeljack and crossed his arms. "So unless you've been romping in the sack a bit more vigorously with Arcee than I think you have, your spark has made an artificial bond with Miko."

Wheeljack blinked at him. After a moment, he scrubbed at his face and again repeated, "What?" Ratchet opened his mouth to respond, and Wheeljack shook his head, waving him silent. "Wait." He pinched his brows before looking intently at the medic. "You mean to tell me I've bonded with Miko? How is that even possible! She's a human! She doesn't have a spark!"

"I said ARTIFICAL bond," Ratchet repeated. "It is something more like . . . not an official bond, but your emotions for her are so intense and your thought pattern so intense that it has made your spark fluctuate and reach out to her even though it cannot physically bond with her." He paused, thinking. He snapped. "After Dreadwing. After you and Miko were reunited. That day she was caught in your spark chamber."

Wheeljack's optics widened.

Ratchet nodded vigorously, beginning to pull up old files of Wheeljack again. "That would make perfect sense. Your spark was reaching out to her because it cared for her so much. In turn, the spark energies reached out, grabbed her, and pulled her close, like it would try to do for an actual bond. But Miko, being human, is an incompatible partner—daughter—and so it could do no more than lock her close as it tried to figure out how to force the bond."

His fingers flew as he pulled up Wheeljack's old spark readings. Wheeljack winced seeing how extremely critical they were—he probably should have been dead if those readings were correct. How had Ratchet kept him alive?  
>"That should have been when this artificial bond was made . . ." Ratchet muttered to himself thoughtfully. He flitted through the old readings. "But your spark was already reacting to being separated from her at this point. That means the bond must have already been searching to be formed . . ." Ratchet glanced over at him. "Wheeljack, have you ever let Miko near your spark before then?"<p>

Wheeljack paused.

Ratchet frowned.

"Wheeljack . . ."

He hurriedly waved off the easily irate medic. "Nah, Doc, calm it down. She didn't touch my spark. I showed her once, but she was plenty far away." He stopped. "Do you think it had something to do with me always holding her near my chest, near my spark?"

Ratchet nodded. "That could very well be a playing factor."

Wheeljack blinked wide suddenly. "Ratchet, do you think the bond would get stronger in drastic situations? Say . . . Bulkhead."

Ratchet looked up.

"I mean, could my spark have noticed . . . her distress? Over losing Bulkhead, and mine, as equally messed up at that point, found a . . ." He gave a helpless gesture as he searched for the right word. "Kindred spirit in her? I . . . held her close to my spark that day too."

After a considerable beat of silence, Ratchet finally nodded while rubbing the back of his neck. "I suppose that could very well be a factor as well," he finally murmured.

They lagged in their conversation for a moment, and Wheeljack felt his spark swell.

_She's mine. My daughter. Not just in name, but in spark._

A possessive and protecting and proud feeling practically popped his spark open. She was his DAUGHTER. In name, in spark, his daughter. He was bonded to her.

"Wheeljack."

The Wrecker looked up, distracted from his happy thoughts. "Yeah?"

Ratchet pointed back to the screen. "Look at those readings."

Wheeljack looked, and his spark skipped an unsteady beat and sunk. The readings of his spark when he had thought Dreadwing had killed Miko. They were jagged, irregular, cut off at intervals, and so deeply red like blood and death it was dreadful. Wheeljack wet his lips as he gathered the knowledge of what Ratchet was trying to tell him.

The medic still chose to say it. "Wheeljack, artificial bond or not, these readings and the reactions of your spark are VERY real. You know how serious a bond is. I don't need to lecture you on its pros and cons. But . . . I'm afraid, with as volatile as your spark has been and how you've suffered spark fracture and spark break three times already—"

"Four."

Ratchet stopped. He held up his fingers. "Seaspray, Bulkhead, Miko."

Wheeljack shook his head. "Four." When he didn't elaborate to Ratchet more, he clenched his fist, thinking of Pyro. "It's personal," he muttered.

Ratchet just nodded, choosing not to dig for it. "Be that as it may . . . I'm not sure if your spark could withstand another deep fracture, let alone a break. And Miko . . ."

Wheeljack nodded. "I know, Doc. That's why I'm keeping her safe."

Ratchet's optics dimmed sadly. "Wheeljack . . ." he said softly. Then, he said three words that hit in Wheeljack's spark's core.

"Human mortality rate."

He cycled intently before he let his chin sink to his chest. His arms slacked limp. After a moment, he finally muttered, "I guess . . . I ought to distance myself from Arcee . . ."

"If you going into this thinking you'll die when she does, you will."

Wheeljack scowled and turned away, winglets perking straight. "You said it yourself," Wheeljack snapped in the dim lights of the silo. "I won't survive another spark break, much less one from Miko."

"I said it wasn't PROBABLE, but that doesn't mean you won't be too stubborn to roll over and die." When Wheeljack's scowl just deepened, Ratchet shook his head. "Wheeljack, do you know how much strength it takes to live through spark break?" When the warrior didn't respond, Ratchet stressed, "Wheeljack, most mechs and femmes can't even live through it ONCE. Much less to go through it three—FOUR times! The strength it took you to live through it so many times—"

"I died."

Ratchet stopped, looking at him in confusion. "I . . . beg your pardon?"

Wheeljack vented heavily, putting his hands on his hips. "I died," he said quietly again. "I died when Crystal City fell. I died again with Pyro, and with Seaspray, and with Bulkhead." He shook his helm, winglets dipping in defeat. "I'll never be the mech I once was," he whispered softly. "I just walk in the shell he once lived in. Now . . . I'm a completely different person. And when Pyro died, the only thing that let my spirit reside in this body was rage. Hate. The lust for revenge. Nothing drove me but that one foul sin."

He gave a weak laugh, shaking his head and looking up to the ceiling. "And now, with Miko . . . I'm finally waking up. Coming back to life. She . . . reminded me what living really was. And Arcee . . ." He vented tightly. "Taught me how to love."

After a moment, he turned back to a speechless CMO. "So if I die when Miko does . . . that's all right. I can live with that. Because I know now what to live for and how to live life to its fullest. Humans teach you that sort of thing, after all." He gave a wry chuckle. "I just . . . hope Arcee will forgive me."

Ratchet moved forward, grasping his arm. "You're not dead yet," he said seriously. "Who knows? There's still quite a bit before you'll kick the can. You might change your mind. After all," and he raised a brow at him, "I don't think Miko would appreciate it if you threw your life away."

Wheeljack's lips twitched up. "Right." He glanced back to the readings on the computer before he grinned. "So, Doc, can I tell Miko?"

Ratchet frowned at the nickname and moved back, harrumphing. "I don't see why not," he finally muttered. He reached over, closing all the windows and letting the computer sleep. He turned and crossed his arms, narrowing his optics. "These confessions don't make it out of this room."

Wheeljack smirked at Ratchet's need for confidentiality, and the medic's brow darkened threateningly. Wheeljack backed away, holding up his servos in submission. "Easy, Doc," he drawled. "I won't tell anyone. You'd be liable to blow another gasket!"

The only thing that hinted at the medic's infuriation was a tapping finger.

Wheeljack grinned, feeling elated at the new information concerning himself and Miko. "Get yourself some recharge, Doc," he said cheekily to him. "You look like you ran yourself through a trash compactor."

He left, moving down the halls before he heard whatever colorful threat Ratchet had for him.


	45. Into Darkness

**Author's Note:**

**First I'd like to apologize for taking so long with this chapter! The end of the school year got very busy with graduation and all, and then I had a minor writer's block with this chapter. The entire first half seems a little less-than-inspired to me, but the second half (when Jackie sees the chief, btw, the little red pickup and the chief make another cameo) is when I think I suddenly brought my A game with it. About time too XD**

**Again, much love to my wonderful reviewers! :) I love every review I get, you guys inspire me to keep on writing my best!**

* * *

><p>So what if he was speeding. You'd think they'd realize he had a lead foot by now. Beyond that, he was too EXCITED to slow down. The dim haze of morning was trying to break through the blanket of night as Wheeljack brought himself to a tire-screeching halt, sliding into Miko's driveway with tire tread painting the ground and smoke rising from the asphalt.<p>

Utilizing his hologram, Wheeljack blared his horn firmly three times in a row, not caring if he would wake the entire neighborhood. In response, he saw a face in the window and Mrs. Davis cracked open the door quickly, swiftly tying the knot of her robe.

"Wheeljack?" She took a half step out of the doorway, wringing her hands nervously. "Are you all right? Is everything okay?"

Wheeljack gave a hearty laugh, rolling down his window and waving his hologram's arm to soothe her. "Is everything okay?" he laughed. "Pit, Mrs. Davis, everything is fragging PERFECT! Miko! Babe! Get your butt out here!"

He honked again impatiently for her, and after a long drawing second, Miko's tired head poked out of the door. She frowned at him. "Jackie, I like you and all, but it's four in the morning. You woke me up with a phone call a couple hours ago. I have school today. It is FOUR in the MORNING. What the frag do you want?"

He popped open his passenger side door. "Get in!" he laughed. "Trust me on this one, Babe!"

She gave him a tired look and glanced up at Mrs. Davis. When she hesitated, Mrs. Davis giving an unhelpful shrug, Wheeljack drove forward a foot or two, urging her, "Come ON, Babe! Get in! I've got great news!"

She yawned. Miko then narrowed her eyes at him. "Wheeljack, c'mon, just tell me. I'm tired."

"You won't be after hearing this," he said with a rakish grin. His hologram's thumb pointed to the seat next to him. "Get in! C'mon, Miko, this is gonna make your day—you're LIFE!"

He heard her grumble audibly as she marched out barefoot in her pajamas, and Mrs. Davis prompted, "Wheeljack, bring her back on time so she can get ready for school."

He chuckled warmly. "No problem, Miss Kitty! Let's go, Babe!"

As Miko got in, Mrs. Davis's drowsy head suddenly perked up in surprise. She blinked widely, looking up at Wheeljack.

"Miss Kitty?"

Miko had barely sat her butt in the seat before Wheeljack slammed the door shut, buckled her up and tore out of the driveway, leaving a stunned Mrs. Davis in the wake of that nickname. Miko squeaked and grabbed his seat as he quite clearly broke even more traffic and speed laws.

"Wheeljack, what the frag? Where are you taking me?"

"I don't know!" he hollered. "Where do you want to go? The K.O. Burger? The base? Niagara Falls?"

Miko blinked wide, making a face. "Why in the world would I want to go to Niagara Falls?"

"I don't know! So where? Tokyo? Michigan? The Great Wall of China!"

Sitting up correctly in her seat and looking over at his hologram with a pinched and arched brow, Miko stated plainly for him, "Wheeljack. Slow down. Why the frag are we going somewhere? If you were just going to take me where I want to go, take me back home, cause I want to go to bed!"

Wheeljack laughed again, whipping them out onto the interstate and gaining speed. "Aw, don't be such a spoil sport, Babe! This is cause for celebration!"

She growled shortly. "If you don't tell me what the frag is—"

"Babe, you're my daughter!"

She blinked. "I thought we had already established this."

"No no no no—" He suddenly slammed on his breaks, whipping over and stopping on the side of the road as he gave her his full and undivided attention. "Babe, you're my DAUGHTER," he stressed. "Not just in name, but my spark! My spark took you as my daughter!"

"Wait, wait, Jackie, SLOW DOWN." Miko waved a hand, scrubbed once in frustration through her hair, and stated, "Stop. From the beginning. What is going on."

"You're my DAUGHTER," he emphasized again with a huge grin.

Miko nodded. "Yes. I get it. Explain?"

Wheeljack chuckled at her annoyed face. "Babe," he started excitedly, "I had this horrible dream last night where I was taking you to prom and we crashed, you died, and I committed suicide."

Miko crossed her arms. "And this is great, why?"

At her disgruntled expression and tone, Wheeljack couldn't help but chortle to himself again, taking a moment to shake his head and wave her off, struggling to control himself at the strange situation. Who knew he would be the one to nearly fall into hysterical laughter at this?

"Okay, okay, don't look at me like that," he finally managed. "Look, look, Ratchet was up too, and when I told him about it and how bad my spark felt, he explained that everything that happens to you causes some sort of impact on my spark. Basically, he concluded that you and I have an artificial bond that would basically make you my legitimate daughter."

Miko huffed, leaned back in her seat, and rubbed her brow. "Okay. So an artificial bond?"

Wheeljack's hologram grinned widely at her, flashing teeth. "Look at it this way, Babe. You know how I mentioned how Optimus is spark mates with Elita-One with a spark bond, right?"

"Right. They're married."

"Well, that's basically what's going on here. My spark created an artificial bond with you."

She paused. She turned a shade of green. "You mean we're MARRIED?"

At that, Wheeljack exploded into uproarious laughter, unable to control it at her completely horrified face. Tears beaded in his hologram's eyes, and the entire car trembled.

"N-No," he finally choked out around his laughter. He realized belatedly that he had poorly explained it, so it wasn't her fault she hadn't understood properly, but it still caused him an unending amount of amusement. He tried to take a controlled breath, failing slightly. "No, Miko, not like that, Babe, Primus no! A PATERNAL bond, Babe, a paternal bond! Father daughter! Remember after Dreadwing almost killed me and my spark grabbed you and pulled you inside my chassis?"

Her face pinched. "How could I forget!" she burst. She crossed her arms and shook her head. "Ratchet fritzed later that day and nearly blew a gasket when he figured out your sparks exposed humans to radiation unless there was oxygen in the air. He had me at his medical berth for half the day because of that!"

Wheeljack laughed again and waved her off. "Sorry about that," he apologized heedlessly. "But that was my spark trying to make a paternal bond with you! It was trying to force the bond to complete! See, Babe? Do you see? You really are my daughter! In my spark, officially!"

Miko blinked slowly, processing this. "So . . . It's like I'm your biological daughter?"

Wheeljack grinned. "The blueprints and energon and cyber-nucleic acid and all."

She blinked again. Then, he watched the revelation play itself out in her eyes. They widened. Her mouth gaped open soundlessly for a moment, and then, with flailing hands,

"OH MY GOD WHEELJACK OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU OH MY GOD!"

Her shriek split across his audio receptors almost painfully, but he just whooped and slammed on the gas, speeding them back down the highway to burn off his excitement.

"You were right! This was totally worth waking up in the middle of the morning for!"

"I told ya, Babe!" he hollered. "I told ya, I told ya, told ya told ya told ya! We've gotta celebrate! What're you thinking? France? Paris? The Nile! Egypt!"

Miko giggled. "I don't know!" she shouted. "All of them! Screw school!"

"Nah, you gotta go to school, Babe, you said Mrs. Davis had a blow torch!"

Miko squealed again in excitement, and it suddenly occurred to Wheeljack exactly what they were going to do. "Babe, street racing! I'm a slick racing machine, and we still haven't done it yet! This Friday?"

"Yes!" she crowed at the top of her lungs. On the long stretch of road towards the base, Wheeljack floored it, sending Miko slamming back into the seat and engine cranking hot.

"And then this weekend, I'll take you to one of those Slash Monkey concerts!"

Miko screamed in excitement again, and his speed dial inched up over the 150 mark, up up up, past the 165 and climbing. "Top speed, Jackie, top speed!"

Calculating the stretch of road, Wheeljack kept his gas floored, letting his speed climb even higher. His engine cranked hot, and he felt the wind sliding across his body as he tore through the air, rubber burning and adrenaline thrumming inside him. Theoretically, the top speed for his alt mode was a whopping 200 miles an hour, and his acceleration began to slow when he broke a 190. Miko was screaming and laughing, and Wheeljack pressed himself hard, inching up . . . 197 . . . 198 . . . 199 . . .

He waited, and the second he hit 200 he slammed on the breaks. The Lancia's tires screeched across the pavement, and he passed a car that swerved away and off the road, spooked by his speed. A shudder went through Wheeljack's body as he slowed forcibly, and he jerked the wheel, turning them sideways. They screeched to a halt at the edge of the end of the road, where it was either turn left or right, and his engine purred hotly beneath his hood.

They both began to hoot and holler. They crowed and squealed and shouted, ran in the base to pester Ratchet with hugs and friendly punches before bolting back out and running into both Topspin and Twin Twist. More hugs and punches and yips, and they left howling and yelling for the hell of it. They left a very disgruntled Ratchet, an amused Optimus, and two thoroughly confused but happy twins in their wake.

* * *

><p>"So? How do I look?"<p>

The Slash Monkey concert was Saturday. This Friday night, they were going street racing.

After considering her carefully, Wheeljack finally huffed, "Good. But too old."

Miko rolled her eyes. "That's the POINT."

Miko wanted to look the part of a street racer. Which, Wheeljack didn't have that many qualms against it since he didn't want to have her face out as a street racer, but they wanted to rub it in the other racers' faces that they got beat by a girl. Compromise? Let Miko doll herself up so she didn't quite look like herself.

All her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a plain black-billed cap on her head. She had found her old skinny jeans and somehow finagled herself into them and wore her boots. With it, a plain purple wife beater and a fake leather jacket she had forgotten she had. To top it off, she plumped her lips with red lipstick and shades for her face.

She grinned. "All right! Let's go then!" In saying so, she tossed her bag of her regular clothes in the backseat—so she could change again before she got home—and plopped down in the front seat.

"Driver's license?"

Miko rolled her eyes behind her shades. "In the bag," she cajoled with mild annoyance.

Wheeljack chuckled quietly in response and shifted himself in gear. He hesitated. "Would you like to do the honors?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Sure."

He laughed to himself as she took the wheel with reservations, but she drove just fine as she took them out to the edge of Nevada that night.

"So what's the route?"

Wheeljack grunted. "It's just a simple cannonball run. Got our CB radio all set up. We'll start in Jasper, take all those nasty back roads, and then swing out onto Interstate 50 and land ourselves the finish in Fallon."

"Dang," Miko muttered. "Long way."

"Well, the cash prize is 10k."

Miko all but slammed on the brakes. "10k?" she squeaked. "Wheeljack, I can't take that money!"

He snickered at her panicking reaction. "Easy, Babe. We don't have to take it. We'll scram afterwards, so don't get your panties in a knot."

She wrinkled her nose and poked her tongue out.

On the way, he let Miko talk. She was excited about prom. Next week, and she had everything set, was even getting her hair done. Jack turned seventeen this summer, what was she going to get him? Guys were so hard to shop for. You never knew what they really wanted. She couldn't wait to get done with school. The bully girls hadn't been bothering her quite as much lately, which was always a plus. And other such things as he listened to a sixteen year old girl bitch her problems and gush her excitements to him.

Until, "Wheeljack," Miko whispered. "We're here."

"All right, let me have the wheel, Babe. You just put your wrist all sexy up there and act cute for the crowd."

Miko snickered as Wheeljack pulled up in the rear, a slick Lancia that caught several people's attention. Carefully schooling her expression, Miko slouched a little in the seat and leaned with a cool air of superiority. The only thing that hinted at her nervousness was the level of her body heat and the drum of her finger.

She glanced over when someone shouted. The car next to them had his window rolled down, and he gave a vague gesture to the Lancia. "Nice car. Real pretty, man. Your girlfriend buy it for you?"

Miko swallowed, whispered, "Jackie, you just brought me in a land full of sharks," and then proceeded to roll his window down. She glanced pointedly at the guy from behind her shades, duly noting muscular arms covered in dubious tattoos. "I did get it myself, thank you," she said flatly. She flicked her fingers to his green Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder. "Can't say I'm impressed with your dinky little car. Your mama buy it for you?"

The man smirked, taking his sly time to light a cigarette, take a deep puff, and blow a gust of smoke out. "Yeah," he said with a lewd grin, not answering her question, but most definitely sizing her up. Miko felt prickles up her arms at the way he looked at her. "How 'bout we have ourselves a lil' wager, Babe?" She stiffened hearing Wheeljack's pet name for her used in such a crass manner. "When I win this race, I'm gonna stuff that big mouth of yours with my dick and then we'll see how much you talk smack."

Wheeljack felt her sweating hand tighten on the wheel, and just when he was going to take things into his own hands, Miko shot back, "You can stuff you dick in your car's tailpipe and fuck that instead. I'm sure the burns there will hurt less than the burn when I win this race."

Wheeljack paused, unsure if he was extremely puffed up with pride over her remark or if he should be rebuking her for her language. Still, the flush that touched the man's cheeks was real, as was the way his fist tightened on the wheel and his jaw bit down on his cigarette. Miko just smirked, shook her head, and rolled the window back up.

There was a pause. Then, Miko pushed out a strained breath and muttered, "If I wasn't protected by five tons of Cybertronian metal compounded with an aggressive father mentality, that would have never happened."

Wheeljack just snorted. "Right. I'm sure you would have given him just as much lip."

"Okay, probably. But now I know I'm safe."

Wheeljack just huffed a breath as he suddenly realized they were rattling off all the rules through the radio. He revved his engine impatiently, showing off heedlessly for the extra attention. He earned himself some whistles, and the man on the CB radio began to call out the contestants. People cheered for their favorites. The flag girl was taking her position, and Wheeljack chuckled, tires itching to get moving.

Three.

Two.

One.

The girl dropped her arms, and Wheeljack slammed on the gas. Miko squeaked when she bounced back in her seat, taking off with a lurching start that nearly rear ended the car in front of them. The Lancia surged forward, zipping forward like a paper hornet off a rubber band his acceleration was so supreme compared to the rest. He squeezed dangerously between the two in front of him before finding himself boxed out by the four leaders.

Wheeljack hummed slightly as he considered the four bumpers ahead. On the main road, there was no getting past that. "So," he said conversationally to Miko. "The back roads."

"Yeah?"

She giggled slightly as she spoke, gripping his seat as they zoomed on. "We'll bide our time here and then blow them all away on the back roads. You want a tame ride, or do you want me to race?"

She grinned. "Race."

Wheeljack chuckled and cruised for the first part of the race. The most interaction he afforded was blocking others from passing and trying to nudge his nose up in case someone opened up ahead. Street lights whizzed by in the illegal race, and the first stretch of the barrel run ended as they took the designated exit and the different routes of back roads. With a quick calculation, Wheeljack found the swiftest, the hardest, and the easiest routes. The quickest nearly was the hardest route to take, but Wheeljack decided to frag it all to Pit and just drive.

Whipping the wheel, the Lancia skidded to the side, rear fishtailing out as he cut in front of a racer and took the path less traveled, and the street lights faded away into darkness. Miko squealed when they hit a bump that brought the tires off the ground before they leveled out again and accelerated.

Miko stiffened and her eyes widened as she looked out over the dinky back road zipping beneath Wheeljack's tires. "Uh, Jackie?" Her voice rattled with every idiosyncrasy of the road bumping his wheels. "I can't see past your headlights."

He laughed, pressing the gas more and making her squeak. "Don't worry, Babe! I got it all under control!"

"You can't even see where you're going!" she yelped. "If you crash, it's all on you!"

"Ye of little faith!" Wheeljack braked, turned, and skidded around a curve. "I know exactly where I'm going!"

They hit a rough dent in the road before evening out. Then, as they swept around the next curve, bright headlights flashed in their eyes.

Miko screamed. Gritting his dentures, Wheeljack jerked the wheel, fishtailed off the road, and a long honk blared past their ears. A semi passed by as the ground rattled Wheeljack's suspension and his precious cargo before he managed to level out and get himself back on the road.

"Wheeljack!" Miko screeched. "You trying to give me a heart attack?"

In response to the brush with a crash, Wheeljack just laughed heartily. "Naw, Babe! HE gave ME a spark attack! I thought he was Optimus!"

That had both Wrecker and honorary Wrecker in stitches for the next bit of the race as they zipped along straightaways, drifted around curves, and swerved on the dinky back roads. Eventually, Miko looked in his rearview mirror.

"Jackie, are you sure we went the right way? I don't see any of the other racers."

"Course we went the right way," Wheeljack said easily. "Babe, I've got a GPS in my processor. There's no way we're going to get lost."

"Then where are the rest of them? They take a different route?"

Wheeljack snorted. "Babe, I've got no idea. All I know is that you don't WANT to see the other racers. That means we're whupping their cans so bad they can't even choke on our exhaust!"

After zooming along the back roads, Wheeljack swerved, gunning it past a couple cars on the main road before merging and flooring it on highway 50 as two more street cars came pulling up the head.

Wheeljack grumbled and his rearview mirrors twitched back at second and third place coming up fast as he tried to accelerate so they wouldn't catch up. "Lookie there, Babe. You're little admirer is pulling up in third."

Miko looked back, and she grinned as the green Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder struggled to pass up second which was still a good two car lengths behind them. "This is in the bag, isn't it?"

"And look at that beautiful stretch ahead," Wheeljack mused to her as he floored it again, gaining speed. "We won't hit top speed, but we can sure put some distance between us and them!"

Miko crowed in excitement as they ever so slowly widened the gap between them and second place—a place in which her admirer finally managed to get his nose ahead. After some minutes of dodging cars and taking the curves just a little too fast, gleaming city lights twinkled in the distance. Wheeljack laughed warmly at the sight.

"There it is, Babe! The finish line! Less than a minute out!"

Miko whooped and pumped her fists up, shouting, "Hit it, Jackie! Smoke 'em!"

He pressed the gas, slowly pulling away from second and third place as more lights filled his rearview mirror, the rest of the racers finally finding their way to the interstate. The city of Fallon drew closer, until Wheeljack went ahead and released the gas, zooming through the finish line with a hoot and an echoing howl.

He slammed on his breaks, slowing and whipping into a side road as the other racers passed by, slowing at their own speed. His engine purred hotly at the workout, and Wheeljack struggled to stifle his laughter when people crowded around, patting his hood, the MC hurrying up to the car. Miko smirked and rolled down the window, flipping the bird.

"Here's your prize money! Hot-damn you won that fair and square!"

"Keep it!" Miko shouted at him. She waved a hand. "I'm racing for the joy of racing. But you can give the prize money to second place and tell him it's from his 'Babe'!"

Taking the time to flip one more bird, Miko rolled up the window with a very Wheeljack-like smirk as the Lancia began to nose its way back into the street. It took some nudging, but the sea of the crowd began to part a little, making way. The Lancia was patted as he went, and then, across the way, in the other quiet alleyway that opened up into the street, he saw the burn of a cigarette.

There was something familiar about that cigar. Turning his wheel, Wheeljack flashed his headlights down the alley, and his spark skipped a beat.

An old, tanned arm flicked the ash from the edge of his cigar. Wheeljack nudged forward through the crowd, trying to keep the red paint in his sights as the pickup truck started up nosily, sputtering and smog pouring from its exhaust pipe.

"Wheeljack? Where are you going?"

"It's that man," Wheeljack finally muttered. He started when he truck began to disappear down the street. He revved his engine loudly, causing the crowd to start, and he made his way quickly when the sea of people parted.

"What man?" Miko asked, disgruntled.

"The one in the truck!" Wheeljack exploded. He gunned his way down the alley. He cursed to himself when he didn't see the truck, but then, he saw smoke curling beneath a street light.

"What truck?" Miko demanded. She crossed her arms, frowning at him. "I don't see any truck."

"He was just here a second ago—" As he turned the corner, he saw the truck moving deeper into night, away from the lights of the city and onto an old interstate that had no streetlights. "There! There he is!"

When Wheeljack revved his engine and hurried down the road to him, Miko grunted and held on. She narrowed her eyes. "So? Who is he? What does he—"

"That's the man that was at Bulkhead's death site!" Wheeljack hissed. He grumbled to himself when the truck sped up, and with a deep cough of exhaust, moved ahead. "The little red pickup! That's the chief!"

Miko frowned. "I thought we had finally agreed that he was just a ghost—"

"Well do you see him now?" Wheeljack snarled. He flattened his gas pedal to the floor, determined to catch up with the enigmatic truck that briefly showed up at the most telling times.

"Well, yeah I see him—"

"Then it can't be a hallucination unless we're somehow seeing the same one!"

Ignoring Miko's smart-mouthed muttering, Wheeljack raced the pickup down the road. Since there was no one else on the forgotten highway, Wheeljack honked, hollering, "Chief! Chief! Wait!"

His answer was a cigar tossed out the window. It hit his windshield burning warm a second before the winds whipped it away.

The black road stretched. Wheeljack kept the evasive pickup in his sights, following him by his taillights. Since he was faster that a rickety old pickup, Wheeljack floored it, letting his tires grip the road and bring him closer and closer to the pickup.

"Wheeljack?" Miko shifted. "Why are we following him?"

There was a moment of pregnant silence. Slowly trying to sort through the myriad of heavy emotions clogging his spark-veins and choking on the feeling in his throat, Wheeljack finally muttered, "I don't know." He just had to catch him. He HAD to, and for Primus's sake, he didn't know why, only that sensation of desperation clawing its way over every circuit in his body. He had answers. He had the answers, to what, or why they were relevant to Wheeljack he didn't know, but he had to catch him. It was a feeling that tugged within his gut the way the need for Bulkhead's revenge had twisted his energon tanks.

The winds of the night picked up. They gusted against his sides, whipping up a sandstorm. Communications fritzed—the storm interfered with the signal, and Wheeljack drove blind down the highway to hell. Ever so slowly, he pulled up next to the truck.

Though sand and winds flooded the car, Wheeljack rolled down his window. "Chief!" he hollered into the wind. It ripped away his words, but the truck's window rolled down.

The man squinted into the wind and sand, face pinched and stern, so tan it molded into the darkness. His features were indecipherable and opaque. The burn of a cigar was all the light inside. "Soldier!" he hollered back.

"Chief, slow down!" Wheeljack roared above the howling winds that gusted. Miko shrank in the driver's seat, covering her face from the sandstorm's assault. "Stop! We need to talk!"

"Talk?" A hard laugh grated from the old man's vocals. He grinned, white teeth nearly glowing. Over the staccato-skip of his spark, Wheeljack heard him faintly shout back, "I see you want answers! Stop looking! You have them! Now, apply it!"

Wheeljack's yell was drowned by the truck's engine suddenly roaring to life, guttural and powerful, and the truck sped ahead, leaving him behind in a cloud of thick exhaust.

"Chief! Chief!"

Closing his window for Miko's sake, he heard her cough several times as he floored it through the smoke obscuring his sight. The inky blackness nearly swallowed the truck whole in his headlights, and it was rapidly disappearing. The whipping sands played tricks on his optics, the light dancing off each grain of sand. Every light on the truck turned off, and it became a 2-dimensional shadow against a shifting, murky black background.

The howling winds blew through his audio receptors.

"Chief! Wait!"

He shamelessly floored it, struggling to keep up with the mysterious pickup. He gritted his dentures. No lousy pickup as shabby as that could outrun him. It wasn't possible.

"Wheeljack?" Miko's voice was breathless, a raspy whisper full of fear, uncertainty, and wonder. "We need to go. He's gone."

"No he's not," Wheeljack gritted back. He tightened the seatbelt on her, trying to lessen the gape the eclipsing truck was teasing him with. "He knows something, Babe! I've gotta catch him!"

The murky figure suddenly swerved. He drove right off the road, into the sand, and off the beaten path. Jerking his wheel, Wheeljack turned sharply, so sharp that his tires spun for a second in the sand and fishtailed him before he got under control and fought his way after him.

Wheeljack gave chase. He raced with a purpose this time, all frivolity gone as he stuck determined to the shadow that jumped across the dunes, a nearly opaque shadow that stayed longer than the owner did. The moment he saw the chief, he was gone again, a spray of sand lost in the howling sandstorm that buffeted his body. The sand kicked up, infesting in every exposed wire, under his hood, in every part of his being. Annoying. Distracting. Frustrating.

He drove through the dark gloom that weighed as heavy as his spark. What would he do when he caught him? He didn't know. Spin him out? Ram him in the back? Tackle him and demand answers? What was it he wanted to know? What more was there for him to know? That last answer he was hiding . . . What was it? How was he supposed to find it?

Wheeljack revved his engine when he saw the figure of nights bust straight through a dune. Bashing his way through it too, Wheeljack yelled, flipping forward without ground. His hood hit the sandy waves, he felt himself flipping, tumbling, tossing, riding a gritty wave of sand all the way to the bottom. A dizzying kaleidoscope of browns, grays, and blacks flashed across his vision, and he heard Miko screaming.

He banged down hard on his tires, bouncing and suspension throbbing in agony as his tires found their tread and slicked through the sands. For a despairing second, he though he lost him before a black figure darted ahead, guiding him, losing him down paths not explored.

"Damn you, Chief! STOP!"

The figure stopped. Wheeljack slammed on his breaks, skidding without traction through the sand. Just when he thought he would slam into the enigmatic spirit, the black smudge darted ahead, making a sharp right turn Wheeljack could have never taken at the speed he had previously been moving. Setting his course after him, he pursued madly.

The labyrinth of the desert was open and empty, leading them nowhere. The storm made the chief seem like a mirage, one moment a figure of solid substance and the next a shadow blurred by the whirling sands. Shrieking winds and gusts of sand lifted his tire tracks before they had the chance to imprint. He was forced to follow him with his optics, struggling to track that elusive figure that only seemed to exist in the spaces between where the sand swirled.

They zigzagged. They turned diagonal, backwards, upside down, lost in a world of darkness without shape. His strongest inspiration was the desperation that if he lost him now, he lost him and the answers he held for eternity.

The sandstorm slowly blew over. The sand no longer blew like demented gales, but rather fluttered like ghosts, tracing over the hood of the Lancia as the ground turned craggy, marred by the mountains of Death Valley encasing the fleeing vehicles like cemetery prison walls. Their speed didn't decrease though the storm screamed in the distance, and Wheeljack's headlights couldn't penetrate the darkness, couldn't find and give that shadowy-smudge a true form of life.

But he drew close. The truck was sputtering, choking on the amount of exhaust it had spent to cover its tracks. Skirting cliff face walls, Wheeljack recklessly drove, bouncing over potholes and sharp rocks as he closed the gape between him and the chief. His engines screamed from the abuse, but his spark sputtered in anticipation. The lonely red pickup whipped around the next corner, and Wheeljack followed, nigh half a second behind—

He slammed on his break, Miko's breath gusting out as the seatbelt locked tight around her. The Lancia screeched to a halt, and his skipping spark beat stilled, clenching like ice before burning him alive.

Miko's voice was naught but a whisper. "Impossible . . ."

The red pickup and the chief were gone. Instead, the dead end encircled by squat faces of rock contained Decepticons in the middle of an energon heist. They all stared at Wheeljack.

He stared past them. He transformed up in numb shock, holding Miko in his palm as he blinked his icy blue optics at hellish red. He took several steps forward to stand in front of the Vehicons who had stilled in collecting the cubes of energon. Finally, that accent filled his audios.

"Wheeljack."

A ground bridge blasted open. Wheeljack jerked, too wired from the chase and his shock to stop it. He motioned the Vehicons in, and they left, taking the small quantity of energon with them.

His dentures ground in his jaw. He felt his metal hinge up. "Dreadwing," he tried to snarl. But the chief had led him here, and he was still too far consumed with astonishment that his threat came out as a raspy crack, articulators filled with sand from the storm.

The Decepticon air commander's hand fell on the last Vehicon. "I am taking care of an Autobot interloper," he stated.

The Vehicon nodded sharply. "Sir." And with that, he left, the ground bridge closing behind him, leaving the two mechs alone.

"Wheeljack," Dreadwing drawled again when the Autobot couldn't find his words. "It's been a long time. I didn't know you were still alive."

"Sorry to disappoint," he said stiffly. He felt Miko's temperatures spike, and her breathing came fast, hoarse. Her fingers clenched slick and sweaty against his palm.

When Wheeljack failed to move, Dreadwing's gaze shuttered. He reached behind him to grab his sword. "You and I have unfinished—"

"Wait!"

Dreadwing paused at the order. Moving his hand more to the front, he uncurled his fingers, revealing Miko in his hand. Compared to the last time, this time, Miko was almost nothing but fear. She trembled in his hand, and white lips pressed together as she glared at Dreadwing.

"You bridged your Vehicons to safety," Wheeljack stated, though he honestly doubted he could have taken both Dreadwing and all of the Vehicons. "Lemme bridge Miko to safety too. She's not a part of our fight."

"You made her a part of it," Dreadwing said evenly back with a telling quirk of his wings.

Wheeljack shook his head, shielding her a bit already. "A mistake." Wheeljack glanced down to her, seeing her shaking her head vigorously at him. "One I'm not going to make again." He looked back up to Dreadwing. "Then I'll appeal to your honor. You know it's not honorable in any way to kill a human. They aren't worth the challenge. But I am. Let me bridge her to safety, and we'll finish this. Once and for all."

Dreadwing blinked at him intently for a moment before stating, "As you will."

Finally, Miko's vocals began to work. "Jackie, no!" she whispered in a panicked cry. "Please, no, no, you can't do this, you promised—!"

"And I'm not gonna break any promises," he muttered to her. "Got it? Now, we've got a Slash Monkey concert tomorrow afternoon, and I'll see you there. All right?"

She sniffed, turning her face away as she wiped the scared tears from her eyes. "Right."

Wheeljack reached up, touching his audio receptor. "Doc?"

Promptly, he received back, "If you call me Doc one more time I'll never answer this comm. for you!"

"I need you to bridge Miko home."

He paused. Finally, he sputtered. "W-Well, yes, I can do that. Where are you? What are you doing?"

He sent the coordinates in a data burst. "I need you to not let anyone out here."

There came a pause. Wheeljack watched Dreadwing sharply as he placed his hands on his hips, waiting. "Wheeljack . . . What are you doing?"

"A final confrontation," he said quietly back.

"We're not letting you do that and you know it—"

"You've got to," Wheeljack said flatly. "This isn't a conversation, Ratchet, these are orders. Do it. You knew as well as I did that this day was going to come again. Respect me enough to do this for me."

Wheeljack felt his jaw tick, knowing he was pushing it asking the CMO for the respect he had never once given him. But after a stretch of heavy silence, the ground bridge finally opened.

Wheeljack knelt, setting Miko on the ground. She stubbornly held on to his finger for a moment, pressing a kiss there before glaring up through a sheen of tears. She fisted her hand and shook it at him.

"If you don't come back I'll hit you so hard it'll make you roll over in the Well of All Sparks."

"Wreck'n'rule," he muttered to her.

"Wreck'n'rule 'n' knock a few articulators loose for me," she muttered back. He watched her go. Once she walked through the bridge, it closed behind her, and his worry suddenly decreased. Instead, he was left with resolve.

Wheeljack stood. He turned to Dreadwing, giving the Decepticon his full attention.

Dreadwing reached behind him, drawing his elegant blade. He lunged, lifting it, and his hellish optics narrowed at Wheeljack.

"This time, I will make sure your spark is extinguished."

Wheeljack drew his katanas with a drawn own screech of metal against metal. He brandished them, taking his own aggressive stance and optics drawing to slits. His anger moved aside for determination and conviction.

The moonlight gleamed down on them, pale as bones.

"Not while I have so much to live for."


	46. Vengeance

**Author's Note:**

**The chapter you've all been waiting for! :D It turned out fantastic! Enjoy, my lovelies!**

* * *

><p>They attacked so suddenly Wheeljack barely had the time to blink.<p>

Immediately they charged. Swords clashed against each other, sparks igniting in the night and kissing burns across his metal. Wheeljack slashed at Dreadwing, a little more careful than his first two times, testing the warrior's strength again, knowing that just as he had grown in his fighting skills, so had Dreadwing.

His enemy's blade was swift and furious, but his own two were restless, smashing back with just as much force at the bigger 'Con. He twisted back when the tip of Dreadwing's blade skimmed down his shoulder, giving the first nick to the Decepticon. They parted for the first time, circling slowly in the dead end.

Dreadwing's burning red optics glowed in the night, blazing with the prospect of the challenge he had been grooming him for. Wheeljack's icy blue optics glittered coldly, intent on cutting him down to size. A chilly desert breeze howled through the valley.

With a warrior's yell, Dreadwing charged first. Wheeljack feinted back, playing chicken as he warded off the larger mech's powerful blows that cut so close he felt and heard the wind whistle. He allowed Dreadwing to push him around their 3-walled ring, dodging his blade, and instead of attacking fast and furious, let his foe wear himself down first. They backed away again.

"My, Wheeljack," Dreadwing drawled out, red optics reassessing his enemy. "Your fighting style has changed. Where did that hot-headed warrior I so loved to tease go?"

Wheeljack straightened briefly out of his defensive position to irk him as he shrugged. "Got the living scrap beaten out of me until I learned," Wheeljack told him, remembering his grueling practices with the Prime that hadn't let up an inch.

"You found yourself a worthy teacher," Dreadwing assessed, shifting attacking positions as Wheeljack readied for the next bout.

He surprised himself by saying, "And a worthy adversary," and half a klik later, wondered why the hell he had said it. Instead, he smirked behind his battle mask. "But if you want me to fight . . ."

Trailing off suggestively, Wheeljack instead let out a guttural yell and raced towards the Decepticons, katanas drawn wide.

Dreadwing echoed his war cry, and they lunged together. Wheeljack blocked his blade with one sword and slashed down with the other. The point cut through the air as Dreadwing pulled back and out of the way before feinting in close, and uppercut drawn for his neck. Jerking back and lifting his blade at an awkward angle to block the swift attack, Wheeljack deflected the death-dealing blow with minor but long-suffering slices across all of his fingers when Dreadwing's sword skidded across his pommel.

They engaged with the heat of battle known to them. Wheeljack attacked fast and furious, looking for that level ground in his style between reckless and strategic as he laid into the Decepticon with all the emotions that had played tug of war in his spark. Dreadwing proved his agility, dodging and avoiding contact with the sharp edge of Wheeljack's katanas and forcing Wheeljack to prove his own mettle. The bulkier mech's blows lambasted into Wheeljack's blades, shocking all the way up his arms and to his shoulders.

When he attacked with a powerful downward slash, Wheeljack lifted both blades and stopped the blow in its tracks. They growled at each other as Dreadwing pressed into him, seeking to overpower him, and Wheeljack yelled, throwing his weight against his blade and slamming it into the ground. Before he knew it, Dreadwing's servo lifted and backhanded across his chassis. Wheeljack was forced to stagger back, and they parted.

Thin leaks dripped energon down his chassis. Dreadwing's claws had raked their mark on him. The second hit also went to Dreadwing.

"You are a poor sight, Wheeljack," Dreadwing told him. His crimson optics gleamed, and the dance of his blade taunted him, glinting in the pale moonlight. "Obviously your teacher could not improve your skills enough to be on par with me."

"My teacher broke my arm," Wheeljack said back. One of Dreadwing's brows rose imperceptibly. He gave a shrug and drew his katanas low until they dragged on the ground. "I've went through enough hell to send you there."

Their battle cries rose to the starry night sky. Clashing together again, Wheeljack and Dreadwing battled furiously, Dreadwing's grace and strength balancing out Wheeljack's speed and force. The two highly different battle styles danced around each other with deadly spins and lunges, swiping and stabbing and slashing. Wheeljack broke Dreadwing's defenses first, a fist jabbing forward with such force that it shattered the crystalline cockpit on Dreadwing's chassis. Dreadwing gritted through his first landed hit and instead, brought a two handed strike to his opposite side.

Wheeljack jerked, having expected his attack to come the other way. Dreadwing's blade hacked into his upper right arm, and Wheeljack roared, feeling it all the way down in his sliced fingers. He fell on the ground, and quickly he swiped his peds beneath Dreadwing's, making the 'Con pitch to the floor as well. He put the pressure on and attacked again with his blades, but for all he gained, Dreadwing merely blocked the blows. He gave the 'Con a matching wound when one of his katanas bit into the back of a black servo, and Dreadwing snarled, nearly dropping his weapon.

Shifting to his peds and lunging, Wheeljack ignored his wounded, leading right arm and went for the weakened chassis. His fist slammed into the broken glass, cutting his knuckles further, but Dreadwing shouted in pain, forced backwards. Though he was in the prime position to jump up for a powerful two handed strike, Wheeljack bided his time and backed away.

As he did, he noticed Dreadwing. The Decepticon had been in the middle of lifting his blade for an uppercut. Wheeljack's optics narrowed noticing that—if he had attacked then in his classic way, that sword would have gouged deeply into one of his legs and given then Decepticon a very high advantage.

They backed away, battle computers assessing the damage and neural nets sizzling in pain. Dreadwing's lip curled both with a cocky smirk that bizarrely suited him but also disturbingly incongruous with his words. "You never fail to bring surprises, Wheeljack," he told him, hand holding his blade weakly, the cut deep on the back of his leading arm's hand. "Your style has changed. While it is still unsurprisingly you, it's like your entire chaotic battle style was subverted and expanded. I am used to your rather impromptu experience with reckless pandemonium."

"Sorry to disappoint," Wheeljack drawled back. He shook his right hand, shards of the shattered cockpit dislodging as the wounds started to swell. "You're still as predictable as ever, extremely disciplined and practiced to the end. Surprising what a dangerous edge unpredictability gives a bot in battle." In saying so, Wheeljack sheathed a blade and shifted his katana from his wounded right arm to his unwounded left arm. At the rate of pain in his right arm, he knew he wasn't going to be doing much with it. He saluted Dreadwing with his blade. "You might want to consider becoming ambidextrous."

His blood red optics calculated coolly. "I never said I was not."

Wheeljack's face puckered a little behind his battle mask as Dreadwing easily shifted his blade from his wounded right hand to the unwounded left hand. He charged.

Dreadwing met him headlong in the crash, and Wheeljack grunted, driving against him with all his might. A cheap blow to his weakened arm made Wheeljack cry out, and Dreadwing took advantage of his brief laps in defense. He barreled forward, driving the Wrecker into the steep rock face, and a jarring punch to his jaw disoriented him further. Wheeljack kicked at Dreadwing's ankle, and he pushed, twisting and slamming the Decepticon into the wall. Crumbling rocks tumbled down.

Knocking Dreadwing's flat-palmed assault to his audio receptors, it instead deflected his elbow right into his neck. Wheeljack coughed on his articulators before the world spun and he felt his back pinned against the rock wall again. Several more fisted blows hit him, and Wheeljack slammed his forehead forward. His helm connected with Dreadwing's and caused the Decepticon to shout. Getting a knee up, Wheeljack kicked the air commander with all the force he could muster and sent the Decepticon staggering back as he gathered his bearings.

When he looked up, a bomb was flying his way.

Shouting an aggravated curse, Wheeljack flung himself out of the way. The bomb struck the rock face behind him, exploding in vengeance and the rock slide began. Scrambling to his peds, ignoring his glitching optics, Wheeljack ran only to be caught in the rock slide. He shouted when he was pummeled with rocks, and he hit the ground. A particularly heavy boulder slammed down on his leg, and Wheeljack cried out, lambasted by a few more before it ended. Mercifully, only his leg was caught.

Hurrying so he could combat Dreadwing's next attack, Wheeljack tugged to no avail. He was caught. Seeing the Decepticon barreling towards him, sword held high, Wheeljack did the only thing he could—

He lifted as much of the boulder's weight as possible, and YANKED.

His vocalizer cracked on a pained cry when his leg was yanked free of its prison, but gruesomely dislocated. Pitching his weight to the side, Wheeljack avoided a two-handed strike that would have ended him. A ped slammed down on his dislocated leg, and Wheeljack screamed, twisting around to face Dreadwing. His katana made it up to block Dreadwing's blade, and he lifted his free ped to kick in Dreadwing's knee and break it. Sensing the move, the Decepticon jumped back, and Wheeljack scrambled away.

His bleeding knuckles grabbed his one grenade. Knowing Dreadwing was charging again to take advantage of his weakened state, Wheeljack bit the pin, pulled it out, and twisted around just in time to chuck the grenade right at him.

Dreadwing skidded, turned and flung himself away, and the grenade fell short, exploding on the ground. Wheeljack winced when it blew several of the fallen boulders, but didn't take the time to consider it—quickly, he snapped his dislocated knee back into place, snarling at the pain that flared up his neural network and staggered to his peds.

Looking through the smoke and dust, he saw red optics glittering at him in the dusky morning, flickering as they recalibrated.

Wheeljack charged, yelling as he met the Decepticon halfway. Their sword crashed mightily, sparks flying, and each blow was heightened with determination and ire. Burning adrenaline and chilling hate flowed through Wheeljack's systems and gave him intent killer instincts that bubbled to the surface. Dreadwing's smooth attacks became staggered and hard, pure force behind their blows as their final confrontation drew to a close.

A servo clapped down on his large audio receptors. Wheeljack howled and jammed his shoulder forward, slamming into the Decepticon and forcing him backwards a step. He lifted his katana and swung. Dreadwing blocked the attack. Their swords skidded off each other. A complicated volley of attacks forced Wheeljack into a retreat, and he gritted his dentures, trying his best to keep up with Dreadwing's speedy attacks. A sharp blow rattled all the way through his suspension, knocking his arm outward, and a hard blow knocked his katana right out of his grip. Before Wheeljack could think to grab his other sheathed katana, a two-handed downward slash caught his attention.

Lifting his left arm, he blocked the killing blow by letting it hack right into his forearm. Yelling and baring his dentures, Wheeljack surged forward, pushing the Decepticon off. A roundhouse kick disarmed him, and then, Wheeljack jumped, one ped held high. Dreadwing looked up towards the assault before his ped crashed down on the top of his helm. With a shout, the Decepticon staggered back, and Wheeljack pounced on him, grabbing his throat and shoving him against the rock face. He transformed his servo into an ion cannon and pressed the gun to his helm.

Their vents poured hot air from their bodies. Wheeljack retracted his mask, letting the Decepticon see the hateful snarl on his face. If anything, Dreadwing's cold optics only grew colder.

"Do it."

Wheeljack growled. His ion cannon whirred loudly in the charge, and Dreadwing winced when he shot.

The rock face next to the Decepticons helm shattered into a million pieces. Dreadwing's mouth plates parted, and he lifted his optics to the seething Wrecker above him. Something glittered in his optics more Decepticon than Autobot. But he shot again, successfully making Dreadwing cringe as the rubble flew and the blasts maxed out white his audio receptors.

Snarling, Wheeljack threw the Decepticon to the ground. He stamped a ped on his neck, making him choke before he unleashed a volley of blaster fire near his helm. It was so close it singed his paint, but did not kill.

When Wheeljack ceased his fire, Dreadwing glared at him. "Do it!" he hissed.

Wheeljack leaned down quickly, putting more pressure on his neck and he slammed his gun on Dreadwing's face. The Decepticon bore the hit silently. His lip split and began to leak, and his optic glitched and recalibrated.

Wheeljack pressed his ion cannon to the side of his head, and it covered the entire half of his face, over that optic. In the other, Wheeljack leaned in close, snarling,

"I'm not you."

Pushing off of him, Wheeljack stalked away, shaking so hard with anger and passion he couldn't stop. He transformed his hand back, stooping to retrieve his katana from the ground. He sheathed it with more force than necessary.

Dreadwing slowly got to his peds. "Why? The Wheeljack I knew wouldn't have thrown away his revenge."

"Let's get this straight—" and Wheeljack whirled on the Decepticon, jabbing his finger at his chassis. "You don't know SLAG about me! You don't—You don't know SLAG about me!" His arms gesticulated aimlessly. "The things I've gone through—What I've seen—What I've done—You don't know SLAG! Primus—" He choked on his words for a moment before glaring malevolently. "You don't know what you've done to me! How much you took and how much more you gave—!"

"I didn't give you anything."

Wheeljack whirled on him, shouting, "Like Pit! You want to know what you gave me?" He stalked up, getting right in his face. "You stole my best friend! My brother! I thought that spark fracture should have ended me! But you know what you gave me? You gave me my family! The team! A serious relationship! My DAUGHTER! You fragging—" His vocalizer fused, and he turned away, trembling so hard he thought he'd never stop. "You gave me my daughter . . . !"

Shaking, he turned his blazing cold optics on the silent Decepticon. "And I hate you for that!" His chassis heaved. His spark writhed in itself, confused and pulled in so many different directions by so many raging emotions. "But I owe you," he muttered. "Primus knows it, and Bulkhead does too. He'd roll over in his grave if he knew the things I want to do to you." He turned back and glared. "For all the spark break you've put me through!"

"You think I don't know what spark break tastes like?" Dreadwing growled. His servos fisted, and Wheeljack looked up. "We were twins!" he shouted, and understanding lit Wheeljack's processor. Skyquake. "Two halves of the same spark! I felt my brother's spark split and die, half of my very spark was extinguished, and you dare talk to ME about spark break?" His red optics blazed in passion; his voice was wrought with torment. "I should have died when he did, and I didn't know what I was living for! I should have let myself waste away and die and ended my misery long ago. You know nothing of spark break. Your multiple spark fractures hurt you, but my spark break AGONIZES."

Wheeljack turned away from him, trying not to think about the other's misfortune. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to let him turn into just another mech aching with loss as much as he did.

"This isn't a contest," he finally snapped at him. He stalked to the side, pacing restlessly as he tried to deal with everything at once. He didn't know what to think anymore. He didn't know what to do anymore. Dreadwing was a monster. A murderer. He wasn't—He wasn't—

Wheeljack growled to himself, frustrated and aching with leaks. Finally, he muttered angrily, "I don't even know why I'm talking to you." Moving off to the side, he touched his audio receptor. "Doc—"

"Wheeljack!" He winced at the volume of Ratchet's voice. "Where are you? Are you all right? What happened?"

"Look just—" His glossia tangled as he tried to force the words out around his entangled emotions. He thought he was going to have a spark attack. "I just—I need—"

He fell silent, unable to speak for some reason. Ratchet began a worried buzz in his audio receptors, and he heard Dreadwing stoop and pick up his sword. He sheathed it, and then, Wheeljack heard words he thought he never would.

"You fought with honor, Wheeljack."

His audios perked. For a moment, he almost turned and faced this adversary that had plagued his waking days for so long, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to see his face. Didn't want to see what might be in those optics.

"Your actions are honorable," Dreadwing told him. "And I respect that." There was a pause in which all that could be heard was their labored vents as they recovered after the brutal fight. Finally, Dreadwing said, "I will trouble you with my presence no more. Rest your spark at ease. Your human is safe, and I . . ." His voice dipped, taking on an afflicted tone. "I have been defeated. Both inside and out. Lost my honor. Your brother is avenged."

Wheeljack kept his back to him as he heard him transform and fly off. It wasn't until the sound of his engine began to fade into the distant that he finally began to process what had just happened.

His in cycles hitched. Overwhelmed, he fell to his knees, and he choked on a relieved sob. The shackles chaining down his spark suddenly lifted, and a feeling of peace infiltrated his soul.

_I did it, Bulkhead. Seaspray. I did it. I won._

_ You are avenged. And Miko . . . Miko is safe._

He took a moment to calm himself. Taking a deep cycle, Wheeljack lifted his head, and the sun of the morning began to spill over the empty canyon. Scrubbing the wetness from his optics, Wheeljack stood, silencing the medic that had worked himself into quite a lather.

"Quit it, Doc. I'm all right. Send me a bridge."

Ratchet's tirade of words stopped short. He heard a sputter, and then, finally, a scoff and the bridge opened up. Walking through—limping a little because his leg that had been dislocated throbbed—Wheeljack made his way into the base.

He looked up, and those in the room consisted of Ratchet, the twins, and Arcee. His optics pinned to the latter of them all, and as the bridge shut off behind him, he made his way over to her, waving off the medic that was already trying to drag his leaking aft to the medical berth. Arcee took one step back before Wheeljack used his good arm to snatch her up and kiss her.

A shudder ran through him. He gasped softly, pressing his face into her neck, murmuring, "I did it."

She shifted in his arms. "Wheeljack—"

He looked up, pressing his helm to hers to look her in the optics. "I let him go," he rasped. The worry that had budded in her optics faded away. His throat shifted, and he closed his optics, pressing several small kisses to her lips. "He won't bother us anymore. I defeated him. I didn't let him control me. I . . . became master of myself."

He felt her slim hands reach up behind his neck. Her lips moved so close they brushed against his audio receptors as she whispered, "I'm proud of you."

Her words stoked the hungry furnace inside. He kissed her again, deeper, overwhelmed by the things he had learned and the things he wanted to express. Instead, he received a rather rough wrench to a wing strut that broke them apart and Ratchet's voice telling him, "Enough of that. I need you on my medical berth."

Wheeljack grumbled, forced to let go of Arcee, and he muttered, "Y'know, Doc, you are one major cock block."

"There will be plenty of time for that later," he replied in a clipped tone. "You'll sit your aft down on my medical berth and stop leaking all over the floor."

Sitting down a little disgruntled on his medical berth, Ratchet began to assess the damage. Wheeljack looked across the room to Arcee, and at her gaze, the quirk of a smile touched his lips.

After a moment, she returned that smile.

* * *

><p>Wheeljack stirred from his stasis nap feeling a small body cuddled up next to him. His lips tipped up, and he reached up to stoke up her back struts. She arched.<p>

"Good afternoon, Blinky."

He groaned softly, and he opened his optics to see Arcee's smug little smirk. "Good afternoon, DOLL," he said back with just a touch of sarcasm. In fact, it hadn't bothered him that much. He felt elated.

"Nice to see you awake again," she said. Her fingers traced idly over his chassis. "Miko knows."

Wheeljack's brows pinched. "Yeah? I kinda wanted to tell her myself . . ."

"She stayed up all night waiting and pestered me and Ratchet with texts. He told her so she'd get some sleep."

Wheeljack pushed a vent from his body. He looked worriedly at Arcee. "How'd she take it?" He knew she hadn't wanted him to let Dreadwing go.

Arcee's lips tipped up a little. "She's fine," she said and pecked a kiss to his lips. "She's happy, relieved, and can't wait to see you again. Impatient, really. She's proud."

His spark swirled into a relieved and mushy mess. "Good."

Arcee's optics flicked up to him. "How are you feeling?"

He glanced down on his right arm seeing the fresh welds and healing knuckles. "A lot better now that the Doc's not lording over me."

She rolled her optics. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

He smirked gently, nuzzling his helm to hers. "Better. In . . . every aspect. I've . . . I feel . . . Amazing . . ."

He slowed down, feeling surprise lace through him at the . . . pleasant feeling softly pulsing from his spark. What was this . . . contentment? Happiness? He felt his throat bob. He hadn't felt like that in his spark in . . . vorns.

Pushing up to a sitting position in his berth on the Jackhammer, Wheeljack let his spark chamber open much to the protests of the femme. Staring with wide wonder, Wheeljack looked down on a spark he could barely believe was his.

The spark fracture that had plagued him was nearly nonexistent. There was a faint line as faint as when the crack had first began, and the waxy surface was finally strong and holding. Wheeljack swallowed.

"Arcee . . . look at this."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped back. "Cover yourself."

Wheeljack scowled mildly and pulled her arm. "Arcee, LOOK."

Something in his voice must have moved her, because she finally peeked in. Her eyes widened. "Wait—is that a spark fracture?"

Wheeljack gave a rumbling laugh. "Arcee, are you kidding me? You can barely see it! That's . . ." He shook his head. "That's amazing." Giving her a brief run-through of the severity of his spark break, making her hit him with angry worry before it was over with, he pressed his helm to hers, humming deeply. "I'm nearly whole again, 'C." He gave a rather weak laugh, wrapping his arms around her in delighted disbelief. "I haven't felt this good in . . . VORNS_._"

He hummed, cuddling happily with her on his berth. After a moment, his content thoughts were distracted by slim fingers touching the edge of his spark chamber. His spark jumped in surprise, and his optics popped open. Arcee seemed oblivious to his slight alarm as she traced the rim of his spark chamber, intense blue optics riveted at the sight of his soul bared naked to her. Wheeljack felt his optics dim with heady desire.

"Arcee . . ."

"It's beautiful," she said softly. A slightly teasing tilt of her lips, and she added, "For all its imperfections. Honestly, I think that's what I like about it . . . what I like about you."

Her fingers slipped in deeper, and Wheeljack arched at the stimulation she evoked with such a simple move, a low growl rumbling from his chassis. He heard her breath expel lightly in wonder, as if his spark was enough to seduce her on sight. He felt his head tip back. "Arcee . . ." Oh dear Primus, was he really letting her seduce his very spark? Such a thing required a great deal of trust . . . A lithe dip of her fingers later brought a moan trembling forth and scattered his thoughts.

"My turn," she murmured, and he accepted her kiss without much of any thought, spark beginning to throb in helpless need that built slowly. He kissed her hungrily, the ache in his spark wanting more, _Primus_ how he wanted _more_, but her lips moved languidly, drawing out his pleasure in sweet torture. His mouth parted, and he allowed her glossia entrance while her fingers feathered the edges of his spark chamber, teasingly digging deeper and retreating.

His vents thinned and panted sharp. His hands passed over her thighs innately, touching her for that sensation alone. "Arcee," he breathed against her. He felt her feather kisses up to his audio, nibbling delightfully. "Where is this taking our relationship . . . ?"

"I don't want to think about that," she rasped back. She kissed him hard, distracting him. "Not now . . ."

Wheeljack let her continue without saying anything more, mouth fighting hers for dominance. He knew she was afraid. Afraid of getting her spark broken again; and though he wanted to tell her he wasn't like the rest, he wouldn't hurt her, he wouldn't break her spark, and he wouldn't forget her, he held his tongue. It wasn't what she wanted to hear right now. It would only push her away, so he did the only thing he could do. He held her closer, and delved into her heady kiss with every ounce of passion in his circuits until she realized what he truly meant.

His spark hummed angrily, impatient, and the electrical energies crackled and snapped, lunging up Arcee's arms as it strove to satiate the fiery desire that was burning across his circuits. Wheeljack gasped into her mouth, struggling to control his rampant want with little success. Arcee smirked at his reaction, more amused at the nakedness of his spark that gave away his true feelings each second, and her fingers dipped so deep into his chamber that they brushed against his very spark. Wheeljack groaned deeply, arching again and fingers digging into her hips before he felt a faint ring in his processor.

A slight growl escaped him at the intrusion, and he grabbed Arcee's wrist, halting her tantalizing progress as he answered the impatient ring. "Miko?"

Oddly, Arcee didn't seem annoyed this time. Her luminous optics lifted briefly from the broken beauty of his spark, and Wheeljack heard Miko burst, _"Wheeljack! It's past time to go! Where are you? We're gonna miss the concert!"_

Wheeljack closed his optics, spark snarling in frustration. The energies constricted around Arcee's arm, struggling to find the arousal from before. "Miko . . ." He looked down at Arcee's hand so sensually placed in his spark chamber, and his arousal spiked. Her servo was daintily perched right in his life force, something he had given to no one, and even without asking, he was willingly letting her take him. His spark hummed from her close proximity. He leaned forward, pressing his helm to hers. "Miko, can I persuade you to let me have this moment?" he murmured.

_"What? What moment? You—Frag it all, Wheeljack, you're with HER again, aren't you!"_

Shameless, Wheeljack nodded. "Yeah." His lips touched Arcee's, and he felt her free hand reach up to play with his audio receptors. He forcefully controlled a needy moan.

_"But you PROMISED!" _Miko cried. _"You said—You promised! This is SLASH MONKEY! I can't miss it!"_

Wheeljack sighed heavily, and his servos wrapped loosely around Arcee's waist. He stroked the protoform there, and she gave a muted purr. Their optics met, and Wheeljack felt his spark skip a beat. The previously erratic ropes of light that chased hungrily up her arms now slowed to a comfortable caress, and Wheeljack leaned in, pressing his lips to the exposed wiring in her neck. "Miko . . . You're ruining a good moment."

_"Well I don't care! You're ruining my weekend! You PROMISED we'd go and see Slash Monkey! You go off battling Dreadwing in the middle of the night, and I'm worried, and I want to see you, and THIS is what you pull?"_

Wheeljack felt a depression of air leave his body. He canted his head and allowed Arcee to feather kisses up his audio receptor despite how it ruined his train of thought. "Miko, I—I'll . . . I'll take you to see their whole tour if you just let me have this one moment. I'll make Ratchet bridge us all around to get us there, the whole tour for just this moment."

His spark hitched and whined in helpless want when Arcee's hand shifted minutely. A silent, trembling breath spilled from Wheeljack before he kissed her softly again. His throat shifted at this interface so unlike any other he had had before, so much more . . . INTIMATE_._ It sent shivers down his wings.

Miko paused. _"The whole tour? You promise?"_

"The whole tour," he repeated brazenly. He pressed his face into her neck cables, breathing in deeply her scent and giving a low rumble. "Miko, please . . ." He shook his head, struggling to comprehend everything running through his system. Arcee withdrew her fingers some, and the slight movement caused his intakes to hitch. "I—I don't even know what's happening," he whispered shakily, unsure now whether he was speak to Miko or Arcee. His arms latched around his femme, pulling her closer. "I don't even know what this is . . . so much softer . . . so much . . . sweeter . . ." His spark sang at this bliss, and that was all he could process this affectionate wonder. "Please, Miko . . ." Begging for her . . . "Just this once . . ." Just this once, what? It wasn't even the interface he wanted anymore. It was more than that. His voice rasped nearly inaudible, so desperate and cherishing it didn't sound like his own. "I need her . . ."

Something so much deeper than simple infatuation . . .

_"Done. The whole tour."_

Miko disconnected before he could, but that was perfectly fine with Wheeljack because he was lost to the world when Arcee kissed him tenderly again. He felt his arms drag her closer, and his hungry spark picked up again, trying to pull the femme toward him as she stimulated the most sensitive nerve endings in his body. Betrayed by emotion, Wheeljack arched helplessly when her lithe fingers brushed over his throbbing spark, the direct contact making him give a breathy moan and tilt his head back. Arcee leaned forward and lightly nibbled the wiring there before she bit down, and through the haze of passion Wheeljack realized that her love-bite had marked him.

His spark crackled to possessive life at her irresistible claim on him.

_My femme . . . MINE!_

An apologetic glossia licked over the mark, but Wheeljack wasn't going to let her get away with that without compensation. His flicked his thumb beneath her chassis, and with one stroke found the latch that would open her own spark chamber. Arcee's intakes hitched, and the mechanisms in her chest clanged shut as she suppressed the urge to open up to him.

"Wheeljack, no."

Undaunted, Wheeljack seized her in a ravishing kiss and toggled the latch again. Instinctively, her chest plates started to open, but she overrode the command and closed them again.

"Wheeljack, NO. I'm not about to—"

He kissed her again, silencing her protests before trailing kisses up her audio receptors. Her fingers twisted deeper into his spark chamber, and he moaned heavily, slumping almost helplessly over her as heat rose in his systems.

"Wheeljack, it's too dangerous—"

He pressed his mouth to hers, refusing to let her educate him on taking a spark mate. He knew the risks. He knew why they couldn't—shouldn't. But he wanted to be reckless. His spark howled on the inside, desperate to take the femme that had filled the places in his spark that needed fixed, slowly helped make him whole again . . .

But he wasn't whole yet. There was still the residue of the spark fracture embedded on his spark, and his spark understood that even if Wheeljack himself couldn't understand it. For once using his processor over his spark, the Wrecker didn't reach for Arcee's spark again and merely fell victim to her feminine wiles and wicked ways, moaning helplessly beneath her as she seduced his spark and soul. The tendrils of electrical energy thrust over her arms, reaching out frantically for her because it KNEW she was the one that would piece together the last damaged pieces of his spark if it could only bond with her!

Ardent need blinded Wheeljack's sensors. He allowed this femme to claim his body, his spark, his soul all for her own, all control surrendered. So much passion, so much fire, pure heat scorching through his body, overriding all his processor and electrocuting all his circuits. His hands gripped her hips to anchor him down in the world swimming around him as his entire frame arched and moaned with desire as he writhed beneath her. His whirling processor held onto her as a focal point in this vortex of cherishing emotion, and only one thought could penetrate the haze of pure want.

_So much more than simple infatuation . . ._


	47. Before the End

**Author's Note:**

**Just wanted to say again to you guys that I love and appreciate your support for this story. :) Oh, and brace yourselves. :D**

* * *

><p>It happened on the way to pick Miko up Saturday evening. After indulging in Arcee, he had finally called Miko to see if they could arrange a time to see each other. Miko said she was hungry, so they would swing by the KO Burger and then have a one-sided picnic on the top of the base.<p>

That was when he figured it out.

It absolutely tickled him pink, and he was determined to surprise Miko when he got to her house. Humming and drumming the steering wheel in excitement, Wheeljack impatiently—but surprisingly—followed the rules of the road in his jolly mood and mused to himself about Arcee.

Definitely the best overload he'd ever had. To say he wanted more wouldn't be a lie—he would have stayed the rest of the day and all night, but duty to his partner called. And, on top of that, he really wanted to see Miko too. It was only a pity he couldn't do it all at once.

Miko . . . proud.

His chest puffed up.

He'd spent so much time being proud of her he never realized how much he wanted her to be proud of him.

Pulling up eagerly into her driveway, Wheeljack honked several times. Miko came all but flying out the door, juggling her guitar, a KO Burger fast food bag and soda.

"Mrs. Davis went and got fast food on the way home," Miko was saying already as she struggled to open the door. "We need to go somewhere we can celebrate in peace and not worry about those darn twins cutting in on OUR time." Wheeljack opened it for her, watching her as she sort of shoved her guitar in the front seat, trying to sit and put her cup in the cup holder.

"Here, Babe," he said, reaching for the guitar. "Lemme help you with that."

Reaching over, his holoform easily picked up the guitar and shoved it into the back seat. As he did that, Miko huffed out a, "Thanks," and then, before she got herself settled, froze as she realized what happened.

She shrieked. Wheeljack laughed heartily as a pair of arms locked around the neck of his holoform, however, he felt her bag of food hit the side of the seat and tumble out the door and her fast food cup drop to the floor. It's plastic lid popped open, and he inwardly groaned, but it really wasn't that much to put a damper on his mood as he calculated the sheer pressure she was putting on his holoform.

He chuckled, patting her hair. "You like it?"

"Like it?" she cried. If it was possible, she burrowed in closer, legs dragging over the stick shift. "I LOVE it!"

Wheeljack laughed again, but then, he registered her shoulders shaking. Showing his shock, the holoform blinked widely, trying to pry her back. "Miko? Are you . . . crying?"

He heard her sniff loudly. "No . . ." His words only made her cry harder. She struggled to hold them back, shaking and sniffing and hands grabbing up fistfuls of his shirt. His holoform's throat shifted.

"Miko . . . ?"

She shook her head, and she reached up around his neck again. If it were a real form, he would have been choking she held him so hard.

"I've just . . . wanted to do this for so long."

A lump formed in his throat. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tight, one of her hands knotting around the locks of hair at the base of his neck. Suddenly, he felt another epiphany make its way into his processor.

She needed . . . touch. He hadn't realized how much of a difference it made for her to be able to have his holoform as something to see, to touch, to hug. This would help cross an invisible wall he hadn't realized had been separating them. Only . . .

As she cried in the arms of his holoform, he couldn't feel her shaking. He couldn't feel the wetness of her tears. It was just a holoform—he controlled it remotely, like a toy. It was merely a thing he created, and he would never understand what it was like to hug her if he never had a sense of touch for his holoform. His fingers stroked through the hair of her ponytail, longing to touch his child.

"Miko . . ."

She hiccupped, curling up in his lap. "Y-Yeah?"

Absently, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Would you hate me if I said I wasn't satisfied?"

She reared back, eyes wide and lashes heavy with tears. "But—WHY?"

He took her hand, pressing it to her chest. "What do you feel?"

Her brows puckered. "My heart." She sniffled, wiping her nose and eyes.

Wheeljack nodded. He pressed his hand to her chest. She moved away a moment but then, allowed him to perform the intimate touch. "Do you know what I feel?" He watched her bite her lip, clearly holding back the answer. He nodded.

"Nothing." He reached up, taking a lock of hair between his fingers, rubbing it in his deep musings. "I want to change that." Seeing the crestfallen look on her face, he gave a light laugh, nuzzling his nose to hers. She squirmed back and giggled a bit, wrinkling her nose at the close touch. "That doesn't mean I can't still use this one in the meantime."

She sniffed again before hugging him tightly, burying her face into his broad shoulder. "Good." She shivered before relaxing in him embrace. "I'm glad you're okay," she whispered.

He hummed, cuddling her close. "Told ya I'd be all right."

He held her for several minutes, rocking her gently as she indulged in a lingering hug with his holoform. Finally, eventually, Wheeljack had to clear his throat.

"Miko? Not that I'm not enjoying this, but I'm afraid that drink is only getting colder and wetter and into more things the more we sit here."

Miko sat up, blinking in confusion, and then, her eyes widened as she realized what she had let happened. "Oh, jeez! Jackie, I'm sorry!" She jumped forward, nearly elbowing his holoform as she hurriedly picked up the nearly empty cup. She began to rapidly scoop up the ice and toss it out the door. "I'm so sorry Jackie!"

He chuckled. "Easy, Babe. I'll run in and get some towels." He grinned and waggled his brows. "And freak Mrs. Davis out."

Wheeljack laughed as he sent his holoform out of the car and up the steps to Miko's house. He knocked politely on the door, and after a moment, Mrs. Davis opened it.

Her eyes widened. "Oh! Hello, Mr. An—"

He interrupted her words by scooping her up, and she shrieked most unladylike before she could stop, swung around by Wheeljack's holoform.

"Mr. Anderson! W—Jackie! Put me down!"

He laughed warmly, setting her down with a rakish grin. "Aw, what's wrong? Miss Kitty got her claws out today?"

Her lips pursed a little and her green eyes flashed at the nickname, but instead she just asked, "But—I thought—How did you do that?"

"A human sized force field," Wheeljack tried to simplify as much as possible. "It's like a molecular magnet, and cold fusion binds the molecules together . . ." He trailed off when she blinked, and he grinned. "You didn't get any of that, did you?"

"Not a clue."

Wheeljack chuckled warmly again, running so high on cloud 9 that nothing was putting a damper in his day. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Miko spilled her drink. Got anything I can use to clean it up?"

"Oh! Yes, of course, come in," and Mrs. Davis hurried inside, turning into the living room. Wheeljack followed, and then, he stopped short, blinking at the human on the couch.

The man looked up short brown hair and short brown eyes glancing shrewdly over Wheeljack. Because of the man's curt look, Wheeljack had to look down at himself to remind himself what he looked like. A young, handsome man in the prime of his years, ripped jeans, heavy combat boots, a white red and green shirt with the sleeves ripped off. And, presumably, the scars decorating his arms and lip. Not to mention a few residue burns here and there. He supposed he didn't make a striking image of innocence. In fact, he probably looked downright troublesome.

Instead, Wheeljack grinned at him. "You must be Mr. Davis," he put together quickly. He frowned, glancing back towards the door. "Miko didn't say anything about you being home . . ."

He sat down his book, taking off his reading glasses. Even in casual clothes, he was in kakis and a button up. "Well, I assume she wouldn't," he said back. "She isn't on the best of terms with me. And you are . . . ?"

"This is the Mr. Anderson I've been telling you about," Mrs. Davis called as she went into a hallway adjacent to the kitchen.

Wheeljack gave a nod and held out his hand. "Nice to meet ya." Mr. Davis leaned forward and took his hand, giving it a firm shake. Wheeljack shrugged a shoulder. "Wish she'd'a told me you were here. I would've made myself just a bit more presentable so I wouldn't make that bad of a first impression. When'd you get back from your business trip?"

"Yesterday," he told him. He put his glasses in his shirt pocket, before leaning back against the couch, eyes raking up and down Wheeljack's holoform once more. "I'll be leaving again early Monday morning though."

Mrs. Davis came back in toting two fluffy towels which she handed to Wheeljack. "Here," she said. She frowned at him. "I thought you and Miko were going to that Slash Monkey concert today?"

Wheeljack tucked the towels under his arm, rolling his eyes. "Trust me, I'm already getting slag for that . . ." Shaking his head, Wheeljack gave a wry grin to Mrs. Davis. "I'd blame it on Sadie, but it was all me."

Mrs. Davis put her hands on her squat hips and arched a brow at him. "And if there's one thing I know about you, Mr. Anderson, it's that that girl is a doll and you are nothing but a scoundrel. I don't know how you managed to land a woman like that."

Wheeljack chuckled wryly. "Trust me, I don't know either . . ."

She laughed and winked. "Now are you going to let that Sprite ruin your floor, or should I take those towels back?"

His eyes popped. "No, ma'am!" and he hurried out the door, suddenly realizing exactly how much that drink was soaking his floor mats. Luckily, he found Miko had picked up the floor mat to help salvage his flooring, and he tossed her one towel for the inside, and he picked up the soaking mat.

They cleaned in silence for a moment, and then, Miko giggled. "This is so cool."

Wheeljack grinned over at her. "Is it?"

"Oh, shut up, you know it's cool." Then, she gasped, looking out of the car at him. "Wheeljack! We should go swimming!"

He blinked, taken aback at the change of plans. "I—What?"

"Swimming!" she repeated. She poked her thumb back to the house. "It's hot enough out! And we have a pool that I've barely ever used, and Mrs. Davis practically begs me to make some use of it. Come ON, Jackie! Let's swim!"

Chuckling and tossing the still damp but as-dry-as-it-was-going-to-get floor mat back at her, he collected the towels and her bag of food that hadn't spilled. "All right, let's go then."

Miko squealed and darted inside, and Wheeljack followed more slowly, allowing Mrs. Davis to take the wet towels. He made a great show of going out to himself to pull a pair of swim trunks from the truck and "changed" in the bathroom. And tossed his "clothes" back in the trunk. By the time he had gotten back inside, Miko came out of her room in a swimsuit that he absolutely did NOT approve of. They were shorts, but he thought they were incredibly low cut for her age, and the top was a strapless. For once, her hair was completely down.

He comforted himself with the fact she was wearing shorts and not a bikini, but he was still grateful they weren't at a public pool.

Miko studied him critically, the red shorts with Vs of green and white. Wheeljack raised a brow. "What?"

She pursed her lips, taking in the six pack and the muscles of his arms and the mop of messy black hair and the ghost of stubble across his chin that evening. His blue eyes were frowning now, but she knew that roguish grin that would make heads turn.

Finally, she huffed a sigh. "If you weren't in a relationship with "Sadie" then I'd take us to a public pool and see how many phone numbers you could collect."

Wheeljack laughed then, pushing his charge lightly down the hall to take them to the swimming pool. "Not if I want to keep my entire set of teeth," he said lightly.

She snickered. "Well, with gorgeous blue eyes like that with just enough of the devil in them, I'm sure you'd make any woman," and she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically, "SWOON into those muscles of yours!" Wheeljack swatted playfully at her as she dashed out to the backyard with a girlish giggle. When she darted out of his reach, Wheeljack turned his head, taking in the fenced in yard and the swimming pool on the patio. Miko stood at the edge of the pool, and she poked her toe in, testing the waters.

Wheeljack grinned wickedly.

Miko wrinkled her nose, complaining, "Great. The water's always so cold—EEEK!"

She shrieked when Wheeljack gave her a push from behind and sent her splashing right into the pool. She surfaced, sputtering, and then, her face flushed red.

"WHEELJACK!"

Belly laughter thundered from Wheeljack at her absolutely irate splotched cheeks. "I couldn't help it, Babe, you just—GAH!"

Two small hands planted square in the middle of his back, giving him a solid shove forward. Wheeljack stumbled, reeled, and shouted as he fell into the pool with Miko. He heard her squeal as she ducked out of the way.

Surfacing with a sputter, Wheeljack blinked between wet locks of hair to see Mrs. Davis giggling with Miko who was laughing a mile a minute. Wheeljack narrowed his eyes.

"Now, Mrs. Davis, I know you didn't just do what I think you just did."

She didn't offer a response but immediately fled to the house. Hauling butt out of the water, Wheeljack ran after her and locked his arms around her before she could make it to the safety of the house. She squealed as he hauled her off towards the pool.

"No! Mr. Anderson, you better not—"

"Better now what?" he interrupted with a growl. He hefted her up, making the plump woman shout as he held her over the edge of the pool. "Should we find out how Miss Kitty swims?"

Miko shouted encouragement, but Mrs. Davis flushed, sputtering, "W-Wheeljack, you wouldn't . . ."

He smirked. "Well, maybe I WOULD—!" He mock dropped her, making her shriek and flail a moment before he took pity and swung her back around, setting her down on the ground.

Mrs. Davis pressed a hand to her sputtering heart before her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Mr. Anderson, I do believe you've gotten me wet with that hug of yours."

He grinned back. "Gives you good incentive to get in here with us!"

Her face relaxed into a smile, and she just shook her head, hurrying back into the house. Wheeljack watched as she went inside the glass doors, intercepted by Mr. Davis coming back to see what the ruckus was about. Wheeljack watched her take the phone from his ear, say something in it, then flip it shut. A few words were exchanged, and then she smiled, leaning up and kissing his lips briefly before heading down the hall, phone in hand. Mr. Davis huffed slightly, watching her go, and then he looked out the window to the pool.

Wheeljack shrugged at him. _Women. _Then, he turned and cannon balled back into the pool.

The evening was spent in the pool with Miko. Mrs. Davis swam too, and while Mr. Davis didn't, he did join them, phone left inside. Wheeljack didn't know if he had ever laughed so much in his entire life. Didn't know if he had ever smiled so much, teased so much, and played so much. His spark swelled to bursting as he lifted Miko up on his shoulders. She laughed with shrill shrieks, kicking her feet wildly as he swing her around and around on his shoulders.

Lips pulled in a bright and rakish grin, Wheeljack saw Mrs. Davis across the pool with an uncannily soft expression on her face. Mutual knowledge of what it was like to have a child.

With a great belly laugh, Wheeljack dunked both himself and Miko into the pool again, spark thriving in the best day of his life.

* * *

><p>Wheeljack's lip curled dangerously, and his anger peaked the highest it had been ever in his life. His servo clenched like a vice around Omega Key and the Immobilizer, and he almost snapped the little pixie stick in half.<p>

Miko kicked the glass she was in before muttering, "NOT how I wanted to spend my first trip to Cybertron . . ."

Basically, these five things led up to this point:

Dreadwing gave them the Forge of Solus Prime because a "shadow of disgrace" had been cast across the Decepticons—thus they had a space bridge.

The twins had fought over the Immobilizer so Wheeljack got the fancy relic.

For some reason, the thought of Arcee dominating him in the Apex Armor gave him a huge kink he couldn't understand . . .

Huge epic aft-kicking and huge epic space bridge.

All of the children had been captured by the Decepticons somehow.

Wheeljack was furious.

In fact, he was positively irate.

The only thing Wheeljack found interesting about it all was the absence of Dreadwing. He WAS second in command, but Miko wasn't held by Dreadwing. Megatron had Knockout holding her. So where was Dreadwing? He even had Soundwave off the ship for Primus's sake!

"If my decision dooms the future of the Autobot cause on Cybertron, so be it. But I will never forsake our human allies."

Wheeljack gritted his dentures as Optimus slammed his blade down into the ground like a grave marker. Irritation peaked to almost blowing as Wheeljack watched him back away. That was it? Everything they had worked for . . . It was gone?

When Arcee disarmed the Apex Armor, however, Wheeljack groaned and unwillingly tossed the Immobilizer out with the rest of them. He watched Knockout's chest puff up cockily, and his optics narrowed.

"Now, if you please, the Omega Keys!" Wheeljack gritted his dentures tightly and fisted the Key. Primus smite them all for handing this over to the 'Cons. "One at a time," Megatron told them idly as Knockout approached forward first.

The vain Decepticon smirked, curling a finger. "You first, buckshot."

Wheeljack stepped up, stalking over to get his charge back without a second glance at his Prime. He quickly came face to face with Knockout's smug little face and greedy outstretched servo.

He threw the Key down with such force into his hand the Decepticon almost dropped it. "If I don't get the girl I'll make you eat this Key," he snarled threateningly.

Vainglorious to the end, especially since they had the upper hand, Knockout just happily extended Miko with a smacking, "Your welcome!"

He growled, at the very end of his patience, and he was pleased to hear Miko snap, "Get scrapped!"

He backed up with shrewd eyes on the Decepticon, eyeing them all for any deception of their namesake. He made it back to his team without any problems as Bumblebee moved forward.

He lifted her, dipping his head. "You all right?" he asked her quietly. He felt rather than saw Topspin and Twin Twist press in close to see her.

She turned, giving a thumbs up with a nod. "I'm fine."

"Good," he said, and he heard the twins' voices blend with his. Twin Twist jerked a thumb in the general direction of Knockout. "I'll be sure to strip his paint and record a video one day."

Topspin smirked. "And if you get me some more of that Ghost Pepper hot sauce, I'll be sure to pump his tanks full of that too."

Twin Twist scowled at the very remembrance of it, smacking his brother's shoulder. "Man, don't even bring that slag up!"

Topspin snickered. "Aw, c'mon, you've gotta admit that was hilarious!"

The twins began to argue in undertones, and Wheeljack cut his eyes back to Megatron who was bartering Jack's worth as worth two Omega Keys. He hit below the chin of each twin, snapping their dentures together with enough force that they both immediately shut up.

Wheeljack winced when a space bridge blasted open in close proximity with Vehicons flooding out. Wheeljack shrank back, holding Miko protectively as Topspin and Twin Twist moved in front, two extra walls of protection.

His face twisted up. "Ah, bolts."

He honestly didn't know how the day could get even worse. But as he watched the Decepticons putting the Omega Keys into the slots the Autobots should have been, he knew it was only going to get worse.

Megatron raised his hands to the sky with a triumphant shout as the Omega Lock whirred to life. "Behold! The age of the Decepticons!"

Yeah. A lot worse.

* * *

><p>The nail in the coffin hadn't been watching Megatron restore one of the buildings of Cybertron. It hadn't been watching him attack Earth to cyberform it. It wasn't even watching Optimus destroy the Omega Lock, dooming Cybertron, that hurt the worst.<p>

It was later, when they were all safe in the base with the adrenaline wearing off, that everything suddenly came crashing down.

Wheeljack winced at the agony in his voice.

"WHAT? You did—"

"What was necessary. There was no time for another prolonged battle. Not with Earth in imminent danger."

Wheeljack sat Miko's pod down next to Raf. No time indeed. He popped the lid off, and she took a deceptively big breath of air. The oxygen in their pods had been thinning rapidly.

"So you destroyed the only device in any universe capable of restoring our home? Optimus . . . _We needed that."_

Wheeljack popped Raf's lid off too as Arcee did the same for Jack. Courteously, he quietly scooped the young human out, and he sat him on the gangway. The boy's hands were slick with scared sweat, and he nervously pushed his glasses up on his nose again.

Wheeljack felt his entire being seem to deflate as he saw that gesture.

_I really ought to have fixed his opticals._

"You weren't there, Doc! And it's not your place to second guess a battlefield decision!"

He scooped Miko out too, setting her down as they circled back around. "It most certainly is!" Wheeljack looked across the room at the snarl in Ratchet's voice. The CMO backed off seeing Smokescreen shrink away from him, and Wheeljack turned his face away, unable to watch such raw passions spill from the usually gruff medic. "There HAD to be another way!"

"I-It wasn't that simple, Ratchet," Jack tried and failed to explain.

"Megatron was using the Omega Lock to attack the Earth!" Raf pitched in.

Miko's face pinched up in frustrated anger. "Optimus saved our planet!"

"What about OUR planet!"

Wheeljack winced again at the crack in Ratchet's voice. Disturbed, he turned away, crossing his arms, keeping his brooding to himself as he stared at the far wall.

His words lashed across his conscience, leaving deep lacerations.

"All of our struggles and energon spilled, and countless sacrifices . . . For NOTHING?!"

Arcee's struts snapped down in her frustration. "Right or wrong decision, what's done is done. But we have another problem here on this world. The Decepticons just changed the rules when they put Jack, Miko, and Raf into play."

The communications beep of the computer made Wheeljack give a sideways glance. "Prime! The Pentagon is preparing to go deathcon one. I need to know what we're dealing with!"

Optimus stepped towards him, voice slow with misunderstanding. "To . . . what do you refer, Agent Fowler?"

"Maybe you should step outside and see for yourselves."

There was a pause. "Ratchet," and Wheeljack felt a prickle down his back at the Prime's severely placed words, _"watch the children."_

They piled into the elevator to meet this threat. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but for once the twins were poking and shoving at each other, subdued by the permanent death of Cybertron. When at the top, they filed out, staring at the brilliantly grotesque figurine ripping its jagged way into the skies of Earth. Wheeljack felt his energon tanks move, and because everyone else had no words, the only word he could utter that seemed to suit the situation was:

"Damn."

They stood, looking at the massive fortress that signified their doom. Wheeljack heard a helicopter, and by the steps on the dry ground, knew Agent Fowler had landed.

"Megatron has managed to complete his first stage of the cyberforming of Earth," Optimus finally stated. "The construction of his fortress."

"In Jasper, Nevada," Fowler said dubiously. "I don't get it! I've already had the town evacuated! Why here?"

Bumblebee jumped, pointing his finger. *Look!*

Wheeljack heard Twin Twist swear under his breath as the _NEMESIS _banked down out of the clouds and hovered in front of the cruel castle. Topspin scowled, muttering Fowler's answer.

"Well, who have they been hunting all these years?"

In response, Wheeljack heard Megatron's voice carry over the air, faint, but unmistakable with his silver tongue twisting lies and manipulating sparks. "Our opportunity to revive Cybertron has been lost! Due to the treachery of Optimus Prime!" Wheeljack felt a prickle go down his wing struts. His optics narrowed and his servos clenched. "But from our fortress of New Kaon, we will instead seize control of THIS world!" Wheeljack's jaw ground—not on his watch.

Megatron exalted his chilling words to the heavens.

"DECEPTICONS! TRANSFORM AND RISE UP!"

Behind him, Wheeljack heard Twin Twist and Topspin say, "Oh slag," and "We're dead," together, voices overlapping. Like a wave of sparkling silver in the slanting sunlight, a waterfall of silver seekers filled the air, crashing down towards them with a gun smoke grey seeker in the front.

He crouched and flung himself to the side with all his might, laser fire sizzling the air and crashing into the top of the silo as the assault began in earnest. Topspin and Twin Twist turned, lifting their guns and shooting at the seekers that were coming around for a second run, but Wheeljack turned his back the other way, towards New Kaon. Engaging his ion cannons, Wheeljack sent a volley of bullets towards the oncoming wave of Insecticons as they were overwhelmed with the sheer numbers of the Decepticons. It only took a few kliks more for the Wreckers to realize that when they attacked from the skies, they were hopelessly outmatched.

"Screw this slag!" Topspin shouted at his brother. "The Mattock!"

Wheeljack snarled, hollering back in the hopes that Megatron would hear, "Frag you to the Pit! You want a fight? Then you bloody well got one!"

Turning and transforming, Wheeljack banked across the side and sped straight towards the Jackhammer parked next to the Mattock. He ducked inside the crevice where the ships were held, quicker than Twin Twist's Cybertronian alt mode weighted down with his drills; his brother, however, was both an aerial and a water skiff, and he zoomed ahead, inside the ship and prepping it for flight by the time Wheeljack had even stepped foot inside the Jackhammer.

Closing the back doors, Wheeljack threw himself down into the pilot's seat, and he grabbed the controls, readying his ship. With a hard jerk of his controls, the Jackhammer's powerful thrusters blasted forth, his ship lunging forward like a Clydesdale compared to a pony. Still, the Mattock's swift speed brought it quickly ahead of the heavier-hitting Jackhammer, and the Wreckers threw themselves into the fray.

As Wheeljack gunned down the first two Insecticons he saw, he got a dispatch from the twins. Topspin's highly irritated but bravado steeped in his voice reported to him, "Jackhammer, we've got ourselves a dinky cumbersome little chopper not requesting backup but most certainly needing it—"

"Cover him!" Wheeljack ordered them. "You guys are quicker anyways. Just leave the blowing slag up to me!"

Topspin whined. "Aww, you always get all the fun!"

Wheeljack laughed, optics and battle computers calculating and responding almost quicker than he was processing. "That's your fault for being the medic, Rusty!" His thumbs smashed the guns, firing as he zoomed along, bot after bot exploding beneath the thumb of the Jackhammer's firepower.

* * *

><p>"Ratchet, prepare to bridge everyone out of here!"<p>

Miko felt her stomach hit her feet.

Ratchet's aghast voice managed, "We're . . . ABANDONING the base?"

Optimus turned to them, optics unreadable. "The base is lost," he told them. "The Wreckers and Agent Fowler can only buy us time to escape. Bumblebee, Rafael, you will depart first."

Miko then felt her stomach churn, and she felt even sicker.

Raf's little voice quavered. "You mean you're splitting us up?"

"We must disperse to avoid capture," Optimus told him, "until we can regroup and launch a counter attack. Survival is our only priority now."

Miko looked at Jack and Raf helplessly, and Bumblebee just quietly took Raf, transformed down, and the ground bridge opened up for them. Miko blanched as they drove off, and she ran to the edge of the platform, hands gripping the bars until her knuckles bleached white.

"Optimus!" The great Prime looked towards the distressed human, and Miko felt her lips quiver. "Wh—Wheeljack—"

Without another word, Optimus turned towards the computer, calling through the Wrecker frequency, "Wheeljack! Land immediately! You must take Miko and ground bridge out of here!"

There was a moment of silence and sharp breaths, and then, Twin Twist snapped to Wheeljack, "You hear that, Blinky? Get your aft down there! We'll cover you!"

A sharp swear sizzled the air. "Bogey on my tail!" Wheeljack snarled at them. Miko felt her knees go weak. "Two birdies from Screamer! I can't shake them!"

"Bank left!" Twin Twist was shouting at him. "You're too far away!"

"I can't—GAH!"

A yell, and a burst of static, and his link went dead.

Ice chilled Miko's gut.

"Wheeljack?"

The start from Optimus and Ratchet was nearly palpable as they both froze. Twin Twist and Topspin's yells were almost incomprehensible, but it detailed enough.

Panicked tears stung her eyes. "Wheeljack!" she screamed. Her hands shook as she wildly wiped the tears only for them to be replaced by more. "Wheeljack! Wheeljack!"

Smokescreen jumped forward, squaring his shoulders. "I'll take her, Optimus," he said steadily, though his servos twitched and his throat bobbed.

"NO!" Miko shrieked and turned to glare at him. "I want Wheeljack! He promised he'd come back! He PROMISED—!"

"I'll take her!" Topspin snapped across the line. "She's our Wrecking girl!"

Optimus turned to Ratchet. "Bridge Arcee and Jack out of here."

Their apparent disregard for her loss of her guardian cut across her heart. She felt her knees buckle and something break apart in her. "NO! He promised! He said he wouldn't leave me! He said he'd be there!" Broken sobs interrupted her, hot tears streaking rivers of regret down her cheeks as she shuddered on the gangway. She felt fingers touch her comfortingly, and she hit them away, jerking away almost violently as she glared at Smokescreen. "Don't TOUCH me! Don't touch me! I want—I want my Jackie!" Tears seized in her throat, and her chest constricted painfully as she heaved in great breaths. "I WANT MY JACKIE!"

Topspin quickly ran in, hunching and squeezing through the small tunnel. He transformed up, optics flitting around the room rapidly. "Miko?" He spotted her, and he scooped her up against her will though she fought. He turned his blazing optics to Ratchet, nodding sharply. "Bridge us out."

"NO!" Miko nearly flung herself out of his palm, and her hands stretched out. "Bulkhead! Bulkhead!"

For a second, it didn't compute, and then Topspin swore as all four bots in the room looked for the hidden cat in the base. After a minute of fruitless search, though he knew it'd tear her apart, he said, "There's no time! Miko, we've got to get out of here!"

As if in echo of his words, a groaning shudder ran through the entire missile silo, dust and rubble falling from the ceiling. "No!" she shrieked. She tried so hard to lunge from his palm that he had to clench his fingers around her. "I'm not leaving without Bulkhead! Without Jackie! Bulkhead—Bulk—!"

"Here!" Topspin looked up when Smokescreen tossed the couch out of the way and grabbed a small ball of fur before it could bolt away. The Elite Guard member hurriedly deposited the yowling cat into Miko's arms, and she hugged him tight, uncaring about his claws that sank into her arms as she soothed his ruffled fur, searching for more comfort and she gave.

Topspin gave them all a sharp nod before he ran out of the base, through the ground bridge, and out into calm, crisp air. The hills rolled in the wind, and the birds chirped songs happily. He looked down on the hysterical human in his palm, and he felt his energon tanks roll in remembrance of seeing those missiles crash into the Jackhammer and the gruesome crash.

_What am I supposed to do?_


	48. Insidious

**Author's Note:**

**Basically, if you want to feel what this last big season 3 arc is gonna feel like for OHOS, listen to ANY Breaking Benjamin song.**

**Lots of people have been asking if the chief is Ironhide because of similarities. Well, your answer is in here.**

**And promises! Evil promises and good promises, you've got some stuff to look forward to with this chapter! Show lots of love (or hate) with your reviews! :D**

* * *

><p>Topspin sat crisscross with Miko curled up on his knee. Bulkhead mewled periodically in the quiet echoes of the Rocky Mountains, and Miko stroked her fingers through his fur to soothe him. Her cheeks were puffy. Her eyes were red.<p>

After stumbling through some comforting words, Topspin had realized that nothing he could do or say would comfort her. So he had waited for her to cry herself dry. She had dry heaved several times, and he concluded that she had cried herself dehydrated.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Miko, we don't know if he's dead."

"You saw him get shot down," she said glumly. Her voice rasped like sandpaper.

Topspin winced slightly. "Wreckers don't break that easily," he said quietly. "There's still a chance. No one's found the body yet."

"How do you know?"

Though she asked, she didn't sound that interested. Topspin released a tight and worried vent. "Twin Twist went down too," he finally muttered. Miko glanced his way. Topspin nodded. "Not missiles. But they got an engine. Crashed pretty badly, he's a bit beat up, but functional. He tried to get to the Jackhammer, but . . ." Topspin paused. He vented sharply again, pressing a shaking servo to the ground. "He was captured."

Miko shifted. She blinked up red-rimmed eyes. "He's their prisoner."

Topspin nodded again. "Yeah." He paused, and then he scrubbed his hand over his face. "Look . . . He's fine. He's all right, they're trying to torture him for information on where everyone was ground-bridged to. Truthfully he's answering that he doesn't know, but . . ." His jaw ticked. "He knows where we are because of the bond."

The small human sniffed quietly. "So are we in danger?"

The lack of inflection in her voice about that troubled him. He shook his head. "No. He'll take an answer like that to his grave. But the good news is he never saw them take Wheeljack prisoner."

Miko stiffened up and glanced away. "And how is that GOOD news?" she muttered.

"Well, if they didn't find his body, obviously he got away."

"And how does Twin Twist know that?" Topspin fell silent at that. After a moment more, he heard her, so quiet he almost thought he had imagined it, "It happened so fast."

Topspin swallowed. "Yeah . . . On the battlefield . . . every second counts." She didn't say anything more. She didn't even move. Her determination to waste away scared him, and he knew he was going to be fighting an uphill battle with her that he didn't know how to contend. Sure, he knew her, but he didn't KNOW her. Not like Wheeljack had. Or Bulkhead had apparently had. She needed them, and that was what scared him the most.

Finally he stood up, taking Miko and Bulkhead in his hand as he began to walk northeast. Miko frowned. "Where are we going?"

"Standard Wrecker protocol," Topspin said to her. "It's an emergency plan we followed during the war in case any Wrecker got separated or stranded from the unit. We'd always rendezvous at the exact same set of coordinates." His spark settled heavily in his chassis. "If Wheeljack's still alive, he'll be there."

As he walked, Miko held Bulkhead in her lap, fingers stroking his soft fur. She buried her face into the cat before looking up and asking, "So why don't you transform?"

A ting of color touched the Wrecker's cheeks. "Ah . . . I don't have an Earth-bound alt mode. And even if I did, I'm an air skiff. I'm meant for air and water. Not land, so . . ."

She nodded and looked out. "We're walking."

Topspin vented quietly. "Yeah. We're walking."

They proceeded quietly for a bit, and then Topspin added, "The first human settlement we see, I'm going to send you in there. Get yourself some water and food, and make sure Bulk there doesn't starve either."

She nodded. "Okay."

When she didn't say anything more, Topspin stifled a frustrated sigh and just kept plodding along. At this rate it would take them days to get to the coordinates, but he supposed that was fine. If Wheeljack had made it out of the wreckage, he would be injured in the least, so he would be traveling slowly too.

Though, a part of him didn't believe he had made it out alive.

He tried to shake his despairing thoughts, but it was a little hard given everything that had happened, and the knowledge Twin Twist had given him that the entire base was in ruins. If Smokescreen, Ratchet, and Optimus had still been in there . . . They would all be terminated too. How many Autobots did that leave them with?

He shook his head, determined to leave behind the ugly thoughts. But Twin Twist was prisoner, and his twin was doggedly blocking their bond at regular intervals so pain from the torture wouldn't filter through. But he worried. And Miko worried him. He thought he would be sick.

"Topspin?"

He looked down at the frail whisper of Wheeljack's human charge. He cleared his vocalizer. "Y-Yeah, Miko?"

He watched her swallow. Her throat bobbed hard. "Do you think Wheeljack's gonna be there?"

His spark hurt. "Sure he'll be there," he said, using bravado to cover up his own insecurities. "It might take him a bit longer than us since we're closer to the coordinates than he is, and if he's injured he might come slower, but I'm certain he'll be there. All right? Trust me."

He felt her tremble. "It's kinda hard to trust at all right now."

Topspin swallowed. "You can trust me," he rasped quietly. "Wheeljack's just fine. You'll see. I promise."

* * *

><p>Jack rode in silence on Arcee. Not that he was silent—he was just so quiet because Arcee was quiet. It took some chalking up, but he managed to find some tatters of confidence deep inside, and he took a breath.<p>

"Hey, Arcee, let's get off the main roads and let you stretch your legs some."

He gently guided her towards the next back road off of the country highway, but she put herself back in line. "I'm all right, Jack. We can keep going."

The turn to the side road went by. He stifled a sigh, frowning at her from behind his helmet's visor.

_At least I got you talking again._

"Well," Jack tacked on, trying to hide an edge of worry, "let's stop for me then. My butt hurts from sitting all day, and I think I'm starting to cramp a little."

It was almost immediately that Arcee moved towards the next turn. Jack released a tense breath that she swallowed the white lie as she turned off of the old highway and onto a dirt road. They coasted for some time past houses and Arcee stopped at an abandoned barn, letting Jack get off.

He put on a small show of stretching, though it did feel good. After a minute in which Arcee didn't transform, he finally cleared his throat nervously.

"Um, Arcee . . . Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said back in a clipped tone.

His throat moved, and he scratched behind his neck. "Arcee . . . About Wheeljack . . ."

"It's fine," she interrupted.

Jack huffed a breath in irritation, brows cinching. "No, Arcee, it's not. I know you cared, and I know it's got to hurt. Heartbreak is universal."

Abruptly, she transformed and took several steps away, hands clenched tightly. Her throat shook, and he faintly heard her rasp,

"I knew I shouldn't have gotten involved."

Jack felt his heart hit his stomach. "Arcee—"

"He never keeps his promises!" she rasped tightly, back struts pointedly sharply downward. "He promised I wouldn't regret it—He promised—" She choked off tightly, passions boiling to the surface and tearing her apart in remembrance. "I regret it!" she finally snapped, hot tears beading in her optics. She glared up at the sky, as if he could hear. "I regret it! All of it! I wish I'd never cared about you at all!"

Trying to swallow around a lump in his throat, Jack hurried forward as Arcee crossed her arms and turned her face away. He put a soothing hand on her leg, and she twitched beneath his touch.

"C'mon, Arcee," he said gently. "You don't really mean—"

"Yes I do!" she half gasped half snapped. Her jaw set as she looked away. She trembled a moment more before she shook her head, muttering, "Look, I'm fine. Let's go."

"No," Jack said quickly, stepping in front of her. "Arcee, I know it hurts. And I'm sorry. But . . . You can't just pretend it never happened."

"I wish it hadn't," she muttered angrily. Hurt tears began to slip down her cheeks. "I wish I'd never gotten involved with him at all. I knew it from the beginning, I knew I shouldn't, but I did it anyway! It's my own fault, and now I'm paying the price for it." She roughly brushed her tears away. She took an uneven breath, grunting, "C'mon, let's go."

"Arcee, wait!" Jack tried again as she stalked several steps away. "Arcee, I—"

"You what?" she snapped. Hurt optics blinked down at him through a film of tears. "Want me to shout it out for everyone to hear? All right then! I was happy! I was even falling in love with him! And now that he's gone my spark's broken again, and all my old wounds are torn back open—is that what you want to hear? Is that—" Her vocals fused, thick with tears and regret as she realized she was losing her temper at her human charge when she had always lectured Wheeljack on the same thing.

Jack paused as she heaved several deep vents to control herself. After a moment, he stepped forward again, putting a soft hand on her leg. "Arcee . . . I just want you to be able to grieve for him."

Her lips trembled a moment before they pressed together. She swallowed, roughly wiping the rest of her tears away. "Well there," she said quietly. "I grieved. Now we need to get moving."

"No we don't," Jack said back. He watched her brace herself against the abandoned barn. His neck hurt a little bit to crane back and look at her, but he didn't complain. "We've got plenty of time. Bottling it up isn't going to help."

"I'm not," Arcee said back stubbornly, refusing to look at him. "I just know there are more pressing issues to deal with right now."

Something in his chest hurt. "Arcee," Jack said quietly, "your spark IS the more pressing issue."

She shook her head vainly, trying to ignore the compassion in her partner's voice. "Not with the Decepticons hunting us and beginning to set their plans to dominate Earth into motion."

"Arcee . . ."

"I'm fine, Jack," she repeated, closing it all off. "Let's go."

A third voice cut in. "And who was it that told ya not to close yourself off from feeling?"

The Autobot and human froze. Then, Arcee whirled around and drew her lasers, optics glinting at the intruder. Her aim settled on an old, tanned human leaning nonchalantly on his red pickup truck.

"Who are you?"

Steely brown eyes barely blinked at her. He leaned down, struck a match on the bottom of his boot, and took his sweet time to light a cigar. Taking several deep puffs to light it, he crossed his arms and ankles, saying, "You better put those away and save 'em for a real enemy."

Arcee planted a ped in front of Jack, lasers whirring in warning. "That didn't answer my question," she growled back.

Shrewd eyes pierced her. "You didn't answer mine."

Though she tried not to, she twitched. He grinned, teeth gnashing down on the cigar. "Sorry about hitting low, but you're just as stubborn as that other one."

She kept her lasers pointed at him. "Who are you and what do you want?"

He snorted. "You don't answer my questions, I won't answer yours."

"I don't have to answer to you," she snarled back.

Jack peeked from around her foot, frowning at the human who intruded on their space. "Excuse me, sir?" His face settled much more amicably at Jack's respectful tone, and he looked over at his fellow human. Jack's brows furrowed. "You said 'that other one' so . . . I'm assuming you've met a Cybertronian before, judging by your lack of alarm."

He shrugged a bony shoulder. "Your point?"

Jack sputtered a moment before managing, "W-Well, that means someone blew their cover!"

The man snorted, pulling his cowboy hat down low over his eyes and muttering, "Does that even matter anymore?" as Arcee muttered Wheeljack's name under breath, knowing the sole perpetrator that wouldn't report something like that to Optimus. He grunted, saying, "Not that I'm trying to be a heel, but I'm here to talk to her," and he jabbed a finger towards Arcee, "not you, bucko. Now are ya going to answer me, femme?"

Arcee's jaw locked. After a silent stand-off, she didn't lower her lasers, but said tightly, "I don't see why I need to say it if you already know."

He grunted. "I'll take that." He knocked his cigar, letting the ash fall to the ground before he replaced it and squinted at her. "So tell me this: what are you going to do?"

"What we can," Arcee started to say. "The Decep—"

"I don't mean about that, and I'm not asking about him," he interrupted, jerking a thumb to Jack. "I'm talking to YOU, Wookums. About your precious little spark that you want to lock down in a box. What are you gonna do about that?"

Her jaw ground. "Did the twins put you up to this?" she hissed. "Because if so, human or not, I will gladly take care of that smug smirk on your face."

Jack shifted, touching her leg. "Arcee—"

"I think we both know I'm more intriguing than you're willing to admit," the chief said, taking a deep puff of his cigar. He blew a lazy smoke ring, making Arcee's brow tick with impatience. "I've heard many a sob story, soldier, and yours is no different." He tipped his hat up, peering up at her. "Now I'm gonna ask you again. Are you going to listen to the wisdom you've been so gladly given, or are you gonna lock your spark down on ice and become just as cold as you used to be?"

She began to shake. Her optics jumped, unnerved. "What do you know about me?" she rasped.

"All I need to know," was the ambiguous answer. Finally, Arcee lowered her weapons, and at her lack of words, the man grunted. He straightened. "Let me tell you something, soldier. Your problem is that you're scared. Scared of letting go."

"What are you talking about?"

His lips pulled, fighting a grim smile. "Letting go of the past. You can't do it. And you can't let yourself be in love."

There was a beat of silence in which Arcee was sure she could feel her spark beating in her throat. "I don't know what you're talking about," she finally said weakly.

"Sure you do!" the chief said more cheerily than before. He arched a brow, knocked some ash from the edge of his cigar, and continued, "First it was Tailgate, wasn't it? You were afraid of commitment. He was willing to go all the way with you, but you held him at bay until he was killed, right?"

Her knees wavered. Her equilibrium pitched, and she staggered to the side, bracing herself on the old barn.

The chief huffed out a quiet breath at her apparent distress. "Same with that Cliffjumper. You thought you might fall for him if you let him get close, so you kept him at a distance and didn't let it become more." He tutted his tongue. "Oh, but after he died and you met Jack, you were determined to live up his words to the fullest. To not close yourself off from feeling. So, though you played hard to get and though you were still uncertain, you let Wheeljack into your life. And fell even harder for him than you did Tailgate."

Her servos tightened into fists. Her in cycles hitched, and her back struts straightened, holding back all the emotions running rampant in her chassis.

Jack watched him take another deep puff, exhaling a cloud of smoke that wreathed around his face. "And he died before you gave yourself up to him. And I think that's what bothers you the most. That you missed love because you were too afraid to reach out and grab it."

Her back struts dipped. Everything about her seemed to deflate, and Jack put a comforting hand on her leg, hearing a weepy gasp. Her servos reached up to her face, pressing there.

The chief paused, sensing his words were hurting her. But he added, "And that's what I'm trying to tell ya. Next time, don't let it slip you by."

She shuddered. Arcee lifted her helm, blinking back tears as she rasped, "There won't be a next time. I . . . I can't love anyone again. Not after him."

The chief just smirked a small smile. Wordlessly, he walked around to the driver's side and dropped the stub of his cigar on the ground, grinding it beneath his heel. The door opened with a sharp squeak. "You think on that," he said. The door slammed shut. "I've got somewhere I need to be."

"Then go," Arcee snapped. The little red pickup's engine started, choking and backfiring before it finally pulled out and onto the dirt road. The dust kicked up behind him, mixing in with the soot. "Go! I don't want to hear from you anyway!"

There was a moment of quiet as she and Jack heard the truck's engine cough away, and then, she finally said, "Jack . . . Let's go."

He didn't fight it this time, realizing she had a lot to think about. Still, before she transformed, she looked back to the mysterious truck.

She straightened, turning more, and squinting at the road. Over the far hill, the dust kicked up over the crest, but she didn't see the truck. She blinked several times, but the plumes of dirt settled before she could figure anything of importance.

She heaved a sigh, ignored her aching spark, and moved on.

* * *

><p>He . . . agonized. He had had his fair share of beat downs, breaks, stabs, gouges, dismembers, but . . . he was sure that nothing quite touched . . . this . . .<p>

Something in his internals was disconnected, rattling with every thin wheeze. Every pump of energon throbbed through every synapses in his body, and leaks seemed to have been sprung from every inch of his metal. Everything felt weak. The blast had scorched him, shook him to his core, and left him clinging to his life. He couldn't even blink without sharp stabs of pain because of the fractures in his face.

Smokescreen had gone. Even after he had told him there was no hope, he had gone out to scavenge the wreckage of the base. Optimus felt his spark clench in worry. He did not want him to lose his life trying to save his.

"So. No hope, huh?"

The voice should have alarmed him. But it didn't. Maybe it was because he knew he was too weak to defend himself anyways. His optics flicked open, and he stared at the man sitting on the edge of the bed of his red pickup, the heels of his boots resting on the tire. He idly smoked, steel brown eyes staring without inflection.

For some reason, he didn't wonder how he had gotten so deep underground. Or how he knew where he was. In fact, all the Prime could mutter was a rasping, "I've seen you . . . Before . . ."

He waved a thin hand dismissively. "The cactus." That was it exactly. The human smirked a little, whiskers on his upper lip moving and wrinkles creasing. "You missed it so bad I thought those rocks would hit me instead."

Then, the chief's smile faded, and he frowned. "So, is that what you believe?"

Did he believe it? Optimus closed his optics, resting his head back as he contemplated the thought. He wanted to believe it. He was horse-whipped and broken, weak, and dying. He knew that beyond the shadow of a doubt. Ratchet was bridged Primus knew where, and there was no way to find the medic, the only one that could possibly save his life. And Smokescreen . . . he knew he was eligible to become a promising Prime, but . . . did he dare lay that kind of responsibility on such a young bot? He couldn't dare . . . He wasn't ready . . .

Finally, after considering the pros and cons of everything, Optimus finally vented and murmured, "I do not . . . want to believe it . . ."

"But you do."

His spark clenched in guilty pain. What could he say to that? He did. The weight of the Decepticon victory crushed his spirit though as Prime, he knew he shouldn't let it. He had to come back stronger . . . His duty was more than this . . .

"Well. You better not kick the can. Someone's coming to see you."

Finally, Optimus opened his optics again at the human. Two things plagued him most. "Who?" he wheezed.

Those flat lips quirked at the edges again. "You'll figure it out. You're Prime! You always do."

The dust irritated his vents, and Optimus shuttered his optics once, trying to bring the human into better focus. His flickering optics refused. "You . . . sound . . . familiar. You remind me . . . of an old friend . . ."

The chief leaned back, arching a curious brow. "Oh? Now who might that be?"

His lonely spark panged for the comradeship of before. "Ironhide."

At that, the human laughed, slapping his knee. "Ironhide! I oughta have known that. You would compare me to that cranky gun slinger . . ."

The Prime's interest perked again. He forced himself to keep his head up and keep the strange human in his sights. "You know Ironhide?"

"I know many a bot and human," he said abstrusely. "Don't know how many know me, but I sure know them."

Optimus's optics shuttered again as he watched the human get down and walk around to the driver's door of the pickup. His vents shook. "Who are you?"

The man spared him a somber smile. "You'll know me when you're dead."

Optimus leaned back when he heard the door squeak open and shut. He closed his optics, trembling in pain and wonder, trying to process the new information. He heard the dingy truck cough and wheeze as it sputtered away, echoing down the tunnels. Instead of wondering, for once, Optimus looked to his spark. And as he reached out . . . reaching . . . a soft whisper reached him back.

_I'm coming, my love._

* * *

><p>A heavy groan fell from his lips. He arched, trying to stretch, and he felt shackles holding him down.<p>

With a start, his optics snapped open. He jerked his wrists, snarling in anger when he couldn't move, when he knew exactly what had happened to him.

"Well well!" His hateful gaze snapped to Knockout. The vain medic grinned. "The Sleeping Beauty hath awakened!"

Wheeljack growled, ignoring the lances of pain up his body. He should be in worse shape than this—he knew he should. After enduring Starscream's missiles and getting shot, blown up, crashed—he knew he should be in worse shape than this. He should be on his death bed.

It was as if Knockout had heard his thoughts. A claw flicked through the datapad he held. "You're looking to be heading towards a full recovery!" he said cheerfully. "That's good. You'll need it for the operation ahead."

"Operation?" Wheeljack snapped immediately, hating the idea of it, despising what horrible things that could implicate. "What are you planning, you cheap repaint!"

Knockout stiffened and scowled at the jibe on his paintjob, but instead just smiled thinly. "Why, it's not what I'M planning," and he held out his hand, "but what HE'S planning."

Wheeljack looked over, and his spark chilled.

He didn't even glance up at him, more interested in his charts that were unfortunately in a Decepticon dialect and hard for Wheeljack to translate. "It will be good to have you on my operating table again," he intoned without any inflection. The sound of his voice clotted in Wheeljack's vocalizer. He choked on terror. "It will be interesting to document this operation. I have never had a subject twice—" and he turned, that one red optic glaring soullessly into Wheeljack's spark, "and a complicated theory such as this has never been tried before."

Wheeljack winced and jerked against his will, optics wide in fear as Shockwave leaned over him, one optic trailing over him with deadly intent. His gaze settled on the squirming Wrecker.

"The results should be . . . promising."

It wasn't until Shockwave moved away again that Wheeljack was able to find his glossia. He was grateful his voice didn't quaver, but snapped as harsh as he wanted it to. "You can keep your twisted claws off of me!" He jerked with more force until his joints screamed in agony. In the back of his processor, he knew it was futile, and his servos fisted. He stared at the ceiling of the Decepticon's medical bay.

Knockout scanned him idly, though his optics did flit to Shockwave uncomfortably. "Just think, Wheeljack," he said conversationally. "You're finally helping lead the finest endeavors in science! You should be proud!"

"If you lay one finger on me," he growled, "I'll strip your paint and throw you in a smelting pool!"

Knockout winced slightly, tutting his glossia as he handed Shockwave the complete charts of Wheeljack's infrastructure. "Speaking of smelting pools, I heard your Wrecking friend has finally outlived his value to us. Twin Twist, was it?"

Wheeljack stiffened. "He's only stuck around with you fools this long to see if he could help me," he finally snapped back.

"Oh, if believing that makes you feel better." Wheeljack gritted his jaw tightly when Knockout patted him on the cheek. "We have much better things planned for you."

That sickening sensation filled Wheeljack's spark with trepidation. He trembled when Shockwave took several steps over, that one optic crawling against his protoform. He was sure that bot could SMELL he fear coming off of him in waves.

"Be honored, Wheeljack," Shockwave told him. He tried to stifle his gasping, but his time in the torture chambers came back full force, assaulting him and terrifying him. Shockwave's one optic blinked emotionlessly at him. "You will either be an Autobot martyr, or you will be Megatron's finest triumph."

Wheeljack bared his dentures defiantly at Shockwave though inwardly he was crying in fear. In fact, the only person he wanted at the moment was Miko to save him, to comfort him like she always did. But he was alone. No one would be saving him.

"What are you talking about, Cyclops?"

Shockwave ignored him, turning his back. "We are ready."

Knockout smirked as he was obviously given the go. An EMP gun transformed from his wrist, and Wheeljack jerked, nearly thrashing with the effort to get away as Knockout lifted it near his helm. The shackles of the operating table strapped him down firm. The Decepticon grinned in sadistic excitement, EMP whirring.

"Prepare for surgery, Jackie."

Before Wheeljack could further think on the implications of the horrors the Decepticons had in mind for him, he was forced into the black nothingness of stasis.


	49. Megatron's Favorite

**Author's Note:**

**Short chapter. Oblique references to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Much props to my mother for waking me up with the most annoying phrase in the world.**

**:D and love me (or hate me) and this beautiful evil plan I have set in motion. Express yourselves in some reviews! I'm getting closer to hitting the 500 mark! 3**

**Song: "Your Guardian Angel" by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus**

* * *

><p>Someone hit him. "Wake up, Wrecker."<p>

Twin Twist groaned awake from the cortical psychic patch and—

He jerked and reeled against the hands that held him. "Holy fragging scrap!"

"Time to smelt."

His optics blinked wide at the heat frothing up at him from the smelting pit below. THAT didn't look good.

"Commander Starscream wanted you conscious," one of the Vehicons told him. "So you would know precisely who ordered your execution."

Twin Twist grinned, discreetly trying to swindle his wrists out of his manacles without luck. Well, that wasn't going to work . . . "Where is Screamer?" he chided with a smirk. "You're telling me he didn't want to do this himself?"

The Vehicon hit his shoulder so hard he staggered forward a step. "Jump."

Twin Twist huffed as he looked down on his doom. He wished Topspin were here. He could just fly away and everything would be fine. Because the only way he was getting out of here was if he jumped.

He blinked, a cracked up idea spawning in his mind. He glanced back at the Vehicon that hit him.

"Hey, are you a flier?"

Before the mech could think on the implications of that statement, Twin Twist had grabbed him and threw him over his shoulder, sending him careening down towards the smelting pool. The other Vehicon jerked and pulled his gun.

Twin Twist held up his hands with a laugh. "All right! I'm jumping!" In saying so, he jumped.

His spark hit the back of his throat and adrenaline began to course through his circuits as he plummeted at dizzying speeds towards the lava pit. His optics narrowed as he angled himself towards the screaming Vehicon that transformed, and as the jet began to pull up, Twin Twist landed on top of him.

Laughing, Twin Twist hollered at the top of his lungs, thrilled that that had actually worked! Grabbing his ride and twisting at the base of his wings, he was able to force the poor Vehicon where he wanted to go. First it was up—he had to get out of this pit, after all! Laser fire scorched near his audios, and Twin Twist smirked and weaved between the infrastructure of New Kaon that resembled an old nemesis the Wreckers had infiltrated before to save Pyro.

Twin Twist grinned in remembrance, all fear gone and instead adrenaline and reckless determination flaring up. "WHOO!" Three bogeys on his tail, and obviously they were going to shoot down their own mate just to get to him. Twin Twist smashed his cuffs several times on the dope that was giving him a ride, but it failed to free him. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder, veered the Vehicon left and gave him some snappy last words.

"Thanks for the ride!"

He flung himself off and sent the jet careening into the side of Megatron's fortress. An explosion rocked behind him as he landed on the next Vehicon. Twin Twist rocked with laughter, shouting out, "This is like the Battle of Darkmount Pass all over again! Only, flashier and Spin isn't being a dead weight!"

He winced when a seeker veered around from the front, and he instinctively lifted his hands to protect his face. Instead, the force of the shot disintegrated his cuffs, and he blinked a moment before smirking and drawing his ion cannons. Leveling the barrel of his gun, Twin Twist stared him down as they approached, shooting and shooting in a deadly square off until he clipped his wing.

Hooting in triumph, the seeker spiraled down and smashed into the side of Darkmount. "So those twins weren't lying!" he catcalled to the skies. "Ketchup! Mustard! I'm a firm believer in your Jet Judo!"

As he rapidly began to lose altitude, the little seeker unable to keep flight with him on top, Twin Twist managed to take down one more pursuer before the ground began to come up rapidly. Grabbing the nose of the seeker and pulling up, they slammed to the ground, skidding, and Twin Twist jumped off as the seeker began to flip. He transformed and landed hard on his suspension, bouncing as the Vehicon exploded behind him in a dazzling crash. He revved his engine, laughing and hooting at the fooled Decepticons.

"Piece of cake!"

_Topspin, here I come!_

* * *

><p>Topspin sat with his knees hitched up and elbows resting on his knees, watching Miko. She sat curled up in a ball, watching Bulkhead who was sitting on his haunches, watching the birds up in the trees.<p>

There was a growing patch next to Topspin where Miko had pulled up every flower in the pretty field, picked every petal off in her desolate boredom, and let the remains collect. In a generic plastic gas station bag, there was beef jerky, crackers, soda, and granola bars. Miko had said the cat food was too expensive and she didn't want to lug the bag around, but that was all right because it turned out Bulkhead had a sort of affection with the beef jerky though it was hard for him to eat.

They had camped for a couple days now, no Wreckers showing. Topspin worried because Miko's depression was only growing worse and worse with the days, and there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say that would help her. For once, in his entire medical career, Topspin didn't know how to patch someone up.

Finally, Miko moved. Topspin looked to her quickly, visor flickering as he watched her take off her boots in the warm of the day. She stretched her toes in her striped stockings before reverting back to the way she was.

Eventually a soft whisper met his audio receptors.

"He's not coming, is he?"

Topspin winced. "Don't worry, Miko," he said, trying to soothe her. "Every Wrecker knows the protocol. Jackie'll show." His spark clenched.

_If he's still kicking._

They sat in silence for a bit longer. Bulkhead yowled up at the tree, haunches frizzing up as he contemplated climbing it after the birds again. He had already gotten himself stuck three times. Once of which Miko fetched him, and twice of which Topspin grabbed him. Eventually making up his mind, he walked back over to Miko, rubbing her leg. She scratched absently behind his ear before getting another small piece of jerky for the cat to chew on. Bulkhead attacked it much like a dog, hungry.

A second later, Topspin heard sniffles. He took a deep vent, steeling himself for the pointless fight.

"Miko . . . He's coming. I promise."

She shook her head. A hiccup or two more, and she choked out, "Today's prom." Topspin blinked, not understanding for a second, and then recognition filled his processor as another nail was driven into the coffin of her depression. She dropped her face, shuddering harder. "I was supposed to go to prom today. Wheeljack was supposed to . . . jump all over Jack's case, and we were going to take Mrs. Darby's car so we wouldn't have a Cybertronian chaperone, and Wheeljack was supposed to boot up my phone with texts and calls about how I was doing and get mad at me when we stayed out past curfew . . ."

She began to sob in earnest, shoulders shaking and chest heaving. The sounds of her crying cut him like a knife, and Topspin pinched his brow, clueless on how to handle her.

_C'mon, Wheeljack. What would you do?_

After a moment, Topspin cleared his throat, and he began to play a song. Strings gave the background a sweet and somber feel, and the guitar played a melancholy love melody. Standing, Topspin reached down his hand to her.

_"When I see your smile, tears roll down my face. I can't replace . . . And now that I'm strong I have figured out, how this world turns colder and it breaks through my soul, and I know I'll find deep inside me, I can be the one . . ."_

Miko sniffled, looking up at him almost hostilely. Topspin's lips quirked up. "Well, we may not have great speakers, or a dress, and I know I'm no Jack, but . . ." He shrugged a shoulder and reached up, flipping his visor up to expose his optics. He smiled at her. "C'mon, Miko. Care to have this dance?"

She blinked before frowning down at the ground. "You're a retard," she finally said, and her choice of words made him stifle a laugh. "I can't dance with you. You're too big."

"Aw, shucks, I'm not THAT fat, am I?" He watched the edge of her lip twitch mildly against her will before settling into a frown again.

_"I will never let you fall. I'll stand up with you forever. I'll be there for you through it all. Even if saving you sends me to heaven . . ."_

He curled his fingers. "C'mon, Miko. Don't leave a mech hanging! You know how much of a retard you would make me?"

Finally, she huffed, roughly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood, brushing grass off her butt. She reached up, two tiny hands gripping his fingers.

_"Seasons are changing and waves are crashing and stars are falling all for us. Days grow longer and nights grow shorter. I can show you I'll be the one . . ."_

"You're a big retard," she husked thickly. Topspin felt his spark breaking into tiny little pieces as he began to do an awkward dance with her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as Miko side stepped back and forth.

_"I will never let you fall. I'll stand up with you forever. I'll be there for you through it all. Even if saving you sends me to heaven, cause you're my . . . you're my . . . my . . . my true love, my whole heart, please don't throw that away . . ."_

Topspin swallowed, feeling a bit naked with his optics uncovered, but Miko was looking at the ground anyways. His spark lurched as the first trickle of good news filtered through his spark.

"Hey, Miko?"

She sniffled again. "Yeah?"

His lips tried to smile. "Twin Twist is coming. He escaped."

Her fingers tightened on his hands imperceptibly. "Good."

_"Cause I'm here . . . For you . . . Please don't walk away, and, please tell me you'll stay!"_

"He's got a fantastic tale of Jet Judo to tell you," he managed tightly.

She nodded. "And . . . Jackie?"

His spark plummeted. He tried not to crush her hands as his grip tightened a little. "We don't know. We just have to assume he's on the way."

_"Use me as you will! Pull my strings just for a thrill! And I know I'll be okay! Though my skies are turning grey!"_

Topspin vented tightly, trying to swallow around the sheer amount of emotion clotting in his chassis. "It's gonna be all right, Miko," he said quietly. He danced gently with her, feeling as if she were a tiny china doll ready to shatter at a moment's notice with all the cracks in her armor. "I'm right here, and Twist is coming. We're not going anywhere, all right? No matter what happens."

_"I will never let you fall! I'll stand up with you forever! I'll be there for you through it all! Even if saving you sends me to heaven!"_

Her head dipped lower. He heard her crying again, tears slipping off her nose and into the flowers beneath their feet. "Thanks, Spin."

His vocalizer clotted. "You're welcome," he husked back.

_"I will never let you fall! I'll stand up with you forever! I'll be there for you through it all! Even if saving you sends me to heaven . . . !"_

* * *

><p>The country roads seemed to stretch forever. Arcee thought if there wasn't a change in scenery soon, she'd probably pop rivets.<p>

Jack's fingers tapped some. Nervous. "Last time things looked this bleak, Optimus slipped me that key card. Something we could hang our hopes on."

Arcee's spark swelled with compassion. She turned her rearview mirror so she could see his face inside his helmet. "I know you're feeling helpless, Jack," she said to him. A steady hum drew louder. "But this doesn't need to be your burden."

The roaring got louder, much louder, MUCH quicker. Arcee was just about to slam on the breaks when a massive space ship soared overhead. Jack's, "Whoa!" was drowned out by the noise of the engines, and Arcee pulled to a stop in the middle of the road, ready for battle should she need to transform. The ship drew around, but she recognized the make—it wasn't Decepticon. At least, she didn't think . . .

The massive ship pulled low, settling to a graceful stop in the road in front of them. Jack stepped off unbidden, and Arcee transformed, brows cinching. "Stay behind me." As the hatch dropped open, emitting a billowing steam from interstellar travel that clouded the way, Arcee drew her weapons, unable to see who it was, only vague shapes.

But she recognized that helm. Oh, she recognized it, and it filled her with a double sense of joy and trepidation. "Jack, I don't think we're gonna need that key card . . ." she finally said off-handedly.

Forward stepped the single tallest femme that had ever graced the planet of Cybertron. Her optics widened before her face settled into a blithe smile, and rosy pink armor glinted in the sun.

"Arcee!"

She felt herself jumping into a snappy salute. "Commander!"

If anything, Elita One's brow quirked a little. Her solid blue optics flicked up and down Arcee once, considering, and she took in Jack's presence before looking back at her warrior. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Flustered and wondering what she had done wrong already, Arcee rued the day she had ever been caught on Shockwave's operating table. "W-What—I mean . . ." Her processor was rapidly trying to access corrupt files to remember her relationship with the commander, but she met with errors. "I-Well—Yes. Yes, I'm fine." She blinked at the other mech. "Prowl?"

"Don't sound so happy to see us," the reserved mech said dryly without a hint of a smile.

"N-No, trust us," and all attention fixated downwards on Jack. "We're happy to see you guys. VERY happy."

Arcee just . . . stared. Her processor was rapidly percolating, trying to keep up with all the information she was trying to bring in. "But, no one's seen or heard from you since Cybertron went dark," she finally managed. "How did you find your way to Earth?"

"Soldier," Prowl said with a touch of annoyance, "we may not be on Cybertron, but military protocol still remains. Please show your superior some respect, Elita One has had a difficult time."

Arcee immediately snapped into a, "Sir!" to show respect for Prowl, and she was about to do the same for Elita One when the commanding femme just huffed a small sigh and rolled her optics, saying, "Easy, Prowl. I can handle my own femme unit no matter what has happened, thank you very much."

Prowl's shoulders straightened, and he nodded. "Please excuse my imprudence, Ma'am."

Surprisingly, she rolled her optics again. "Easy, Prowl. You might twist an axel if you relax too much." She shook her head and smiled again, a sweet smile that could light the room with sunshine. She stepped forward, leaning down to Arcee to whisper just loud enough for Prowl to hear, "He's been cooped up on that ship for too long. He swears up and down it's my horrible flight skills."

"I have said no such thing," Prowl said immediately.

Jack shifted, noticing Arcee's apparent discomfort. He knew about her memory loss. But he didn't know what to tell her now that she was coming face-to-face with a commander that she had clearly been on very good terms with. "She does the flying?" Jack asked.

Prowl gave a nod, optics taking in the small human life form with veiled interest. "Contrary to what you may think, the commander is a far better pilot than myself."

Elita One just shook her head, saying, "As for your broader question, my story is about the same as all Autobots since the Exodus. I wandered the space ways in search of others, reuniting with some often only to see them fall at the hands of the Decepticons."

Arcee nodded. "Until you detected the Omega beam and followed it here."

Elita One hiked a brow and put her hands on her hips. "If you are referring to the massive energy burst originating from Cybertron, that would be a yes. But that's a little out of order." Her brighter smile faded. "There was a disturbance in my spark. I thought it originated from Optimus, but I was wrong. He was distressed about his brother. So I headed back to Cybertron with my only two femmes left, Chromia and Firestar."

Arcee started. The unit! "What happened?"

Eilta One shook her head. "Possibly the worst. Ultra Magnus had been taken captive by Shockwave. We infiltrated Shockwave's lab to find that Shockwave's experimentations took a nasty turn . . ." She vented, dispelling the images from her mind. "We rescued him, but not before Shockwave took Firestar's life. Chromia was badly injured." The femme commander's hand tightened on her hips, and her lips pressed, the only indication of inner turmoil. "Unfortunately, my medical skills were not enough to save her. I desperately patched Ultra Magnus how I could, and he's been in critical condition ever since."

Prowl inclined his helm for permission to cut in. "The commander picked me up off a dying planet I was marooned on. I was able to contribute what little medical supplies were left of my field kit, but they are not enough to save him. His life force is slipping every day."

Arcee's optics popped. "You mean he's inside the ship?"

Jack looked up, throat working. "We need Ratchet."

"Ratchet?" Jack jumped when Prowl's gaze fixated on him. "Do you know where he is?"

"N-No, sir," Jack stuttered. "The team was split apart. So the Decepticons couldn't find us."

Elita One nodded. "It was apparent when we arrived on this planet that it was under siege. My scanners detected Autobot life signals, yours being in closest proximity to our position"

"Signals? As in plural?" When Prowl gave him a particularly strict look from beneath his red chevron, Jack straightened his shoulders and tacked on, "Ma'am."

"Five total," she told him.

Jack's face dropped. "There were eight."

Arcee looked down at her human partner, saying gently, "Jack, that doesn't necessarily mean what you're thinking. Autobot signals can't be detected when they're shielded." She looked back up to Prowl and Elita One. "Then I guess we need to start looking for the rest as quickly as possible."

* * *

><p>He woke with a slight groan. He was a little sore, but not horribly. Mostly dull aches, like he had been in a recent fight and had just now been repaired.<p>

Wait . . . That was right. He HAD recently been in a fight.

"Rise and shine! The morning's fine!"

Wheeljack gave a groan at Knockout's chipper voice. It would be him. Sitting up and rubbing his helm, he asked, "So? What's the damage?"

Knockout turned around, claws flicking his information through a datapad. "You've pulled through with a full recovery, my dear. You check out clean. I've got your energon right here," and he handed him a green cube. "Drink up. Megatron's expecting you on the bridge."

Wheeljack frowned, arching a brow at the strange substance he was given. He eyed the medic suspiciously. "What is this crap?"

That made the Decepticon medic whirl with a grin. "Synthetic energon!" he replied gaily. "This glorious stuff is reserved for Megatron's favorites—"

Wheeljack huffed, swirling the liquid and glaring. "Look. Cut the crap. I'm more of a scientist than you'll ever be. What's in this slag?"

He was figuratively happy when he could get rid of that irritating smile of his, even though in reality he felt nothing. Cocky, vainglorious Decepticon. If he put his mind to his work, he wouldn't mind him so much. "This energon is basically a steroid," Knockout said, laying it flat for him. "It supercharges any Cybertronian who uses it, making them stronger, faster, and more powerful. Your systems will be running at a much higher percentage than before, and provides a greater energy efficiency. Do I need to hand you the full check out of it? You'll have to try to get past Shockwave for that."

Wheeljack grumbled, knowing that Shockwave liked to keep his secrets. He waved his hand and dismissed it. "Whatever." He took a big gulp and then stopped, face scrunching. He glanced at Knockout. "Tastes like slag."

Knockout just gave a shrug, and at the lack of response, Wheeljack just chugged the rest as fast as he could. He tossed the medic the cube, and Knockout sputtered as he scrambled to catch it before it pelted against his paint. "See ya, Doc," Wheeljack drawled to him as he began to walk from med bay.

"Hey!" Knockout shouted after him. "The bridge! Go to the bridge! Megatron's expecting—!"

The doors swished shut behind him. Wheeljack grunted to himself as he walked down the halls of the _NEMESIS_, thankful to be out of the medic's presence. If there was anything he hated, it was medical checkups. Beyond that, Knockout was a pain. At least he did his job well enough.

He walked by without care or inflection past Vehicons and Insecticons, all skidding around him. His reputation preceded him. Without any feeling whatsoever, Wheeljack stalked his way into the bridge.

Megatron turned at the head of the ship. Coming to him, Wheeljack placed his servo on his chest and knelt. "Lord Megatron."

"Wheeljack," he said amicably. "It is good to see you back on your feet."

"Knockout did his job," he said without any beating around the bush. "Now give me mine."

Megatron's teeth drew into a jagged smirk. "Very well. Our Wrecker prisoner, Twin Twist, has escaped us. You know him?"

Wheeljack's gaze flattened. "Unfortunately."

That sadistic grin grew. "Starscream let him escape after placing a tracker in him so that he may lead us to the other Autobots. He has sent his armada to dispose of the Autobots, but I do not trust his means. I will have Soundwave bridge you out, and you will follow them. You will terminate them on sight."

Wheeljack gave a sharp nod. His Decepticon red optics glared forth.

"With pleasure, my liege."


	50. Consummation

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks so much for your lovely reviews, I enjoy hearing from you! :) Here's another chapter for you to rage at me!**

* * *

><p>"Look at those buckets of bolts."<p>

Topspin reached over Miko's head to fist bump his brother.

"Elite Vehicon troopers are still VEHICON troopers."

"Dolts," Miko finished with the first resemblance of a grin on her face. Bulkhead crouched next to her, hissing at the enemy.

"Targets are in range," Topspin said, visor glinting devilishly as the log with the bomb drifted down the creek and closer to the dumb troopers.

"And kaboom," Twin Twist grinned.

He pressed the button just as they heard a faint, "GRENADE!" and a big blast of blue energon smoke swamped over the area. Miko stood up as Bulkhead yipped and bolted up Twin Twist's leg, scared by the blast. Twin Twist swore mildly under his breath as his fingers tried to catch the spooked cat.

"How'd you know the 'Cons planted a tracker on you?" Miko asked him.

Twin Twist plucked the meowing cat off of his hip and, as disgruntled as he could possibly be, handed him off to Topspin who cooed, "Aw, he's just scared! C'mon, Twist, stop being such a hard aft, he's cute!"

"Cute my afterburner," Twin Twist muttered. He shrugged a shoulder at Miko. "I figured the 'Cons were up to something, so I did a little poking around under my hood."

Topspin laughed, grinning over at him as Bulkhead scrambled up his arm. "Look who's learning to think with his processor!"

"Hey!" He punched his brother's shoulder, successfully spooking Bulkhead further and sending the cat shrieking with a displeased hiss. He burrowed into Topspin's neck cables as Twin Twist denied, "I'm not THAT dumb, Rusty! I've got just as much brains as you!"

Topspin just shook his head and his finger. "Just because you claim that, doesn't mean my medical scans have picked up what you think you have!"

"Hey, guys!" Miko called out below. She extended her hands. "Before you get in a scrap, give me my cat! You're gonna give him a heart attack!"

"Aw, shucks, we wouldn't do that." Still, Topspin carefully plucked the tawny cat from his shoulder and handed him down to Miko. She took the squalling cat, never minding the claws digging into her skin, and she petted him and talked baby to him to get him to calm down.

She glanced up at her twin guardians. "So! What's our next move? Can we go rescue Wheeljack?"

Twin Twist's brows pinched. "That fortress is no joke. Right now, we don't have the force it's gonna take to try to sneak in there and bust him out. We'll need reinforcements."

Topspin grinned, sensing what he was going for. "I've got some ammunitions from the Mattock I took on my way out to get Miko," he supplied helpfully.

Twin Twist grinned down at Miko who blinked up at them. "You think we're making noise now? You just wait!"

"Hey!" Topspin grabbed his brother before he could transform down. "You've gotta take Babe here. I don't have a place to put her."

Twin Twist frowned at him, and Miko backed up a little at the two brothers began to quibble again. "What are you talking about? I don't have a place to put her either! Just do what you did before!"

"What? Walk? Because we'll definitely get somewhere quickly like that!"

"Well where am I supposed to put her? It's not like I can just toss her in my spark chamber!"

"Oh YEAH. And I'm supposed to put her on my hull as I fly?"

"Like it's any better than me just putting her on top of me as I drive!"

"You should have gotten an Earth mode!"

"Me? What about YOU!"

Miko turned, hearing a car engine coming. She turned, taking several steps forward with Bulkhead in her arms. Her heart nearly stopped as the car drew louder.

She knew the hum of that engine anywhere.

"Wheeljack?"

Both the twins stopped their fighting, hearing him coming. Then, over the crest of the far hill, the white Lancia blazed forward, hull glinting in the sun.

Miko dropped Bulkhead on his feet. Hot, relieved tears began coursing down her cheeks, and she waved her hands to get his attention. "Wheeljack! Wheeljack!"

Topspin burst into laughter behind her. "Atta boy! I told you he was coming, Babe!"

The Lancia floored it, coming in hot and fast. Twin Twist frowned. "Wheeljack—"

Before he could tell the Wrecker to slow down, the mech transformed, drawing his blades. Both twins jolted. Sharp blades glinted above Miko in the sun. Before he could descend upon his victim, Twin Twist yelled and tackled him. They crashed thunderously to the ground as Topspin planted a ped in front of Miko, and Twin Twist hurled the Wrecker over his shoulder to put some distance between them.

He looked up, battle computer fritzing. "Wheeljack! Wheeljack, what are you—?"

Wheeljack looked up, and Twin Twist's jaw gaped at the sight of his Decepticon red optics. "Wheel—"

Before he could say anything more, Wheeljack sheathed his katanas and drew his cannons. Both twins jerked into action, shouting and ducking for cover as Wheeljack attacked them. Miko grunted when Topspin managed to snatch both her and Bulkhead up with one grab before ducking into some trees.

"Hold him!" Topspin barked at her, dumping the yowling cat into her arms. Miko blanched as he drew his own cannons before racing back into the fray.

She ran several steps back out. "Don't hurt him!" she cried out. Her heart choked in her throat, and she gripped Bulkhead with knuckle-white hands. "Please!"

Topspin sent a volley of fire at Wheeljack, distracting him from Twin Twist who closed in on the other side. "Wheeljack! Stop!"

He grinned from behind his battle mask. He tumbled low across the ground and beneath his attack before his shot grazed across Topspin's shoulder. The Wrecker swore and pulled back just as Twin Twist leapt on Wheeljack.

The two mechs crashed to the ground in a tangle, and after a brief scuffle, Twin Twist's element of surprise pulled through and he pinned Wheeljack down by his elbows, gritting his dentures. "What are you doing?" he cried. He vented sharply as he struggled to hold down his fighting friend. "Stop! Wheeljack, it's me! Twist! Don't you remember?"

Wheeljack's denta bared from behind his battle mask. His optics flashed, but there was a curious sense of . . . NOTHINGNESS behind artificial anger. "Remember?" he snarled. "If I had the choice, I'd forget everything associated with you!"

Twin Twist's optics flared in shock just in time for Wheeljack's helm to smash into his. His neural net flared with pain, and he ducked backwards as Wheeljack attacked him with a flurry of fists. His body twisted when his fists pummeled into him, and his fists transformed, utilizing his implanted brass knuckles. Topspin ran up, armed fists at the ready.

Miko's screech from the sidelines reached their audios. "Wheeljack STOP! Don't hurt them! Don't hurt him! Please!"

Wheeljack ducked beneath Twin Twist's fist, backhanding the bot and catching Topspin's attack. He wrenched his arm back and around, twisting him into a helpless position. Holding Topspin at bay with one hand, Wheeljack turned back to Twin Twist who was coming around for a second round, and he blasted him directly in the chest. Twin Twist fell with a crash and grit of his teeth, systems smoking. Wheeljack then whirled around and jammed the barrel of his gun into Topspin's gut and shot directly.

Topspin cried out, staggering backwards when the shot ripped apart his stomach plating. Before he could put up a defense, Wheeljack's servos grabbed his audio receptors and rammed his knee into the mech's faceplates. The impact shattered his visor, large chunks of crystal falling out of it.

They parted for a brief moment, each bot nursing wounds and assessing the other. No doubt about it, something was off. Both twins knew something was wrong with Wheeljack, some part of his processor tampered with, it didn't matter what. He wasn't functioning correctly and wasn't thinking right. They slowly circled around him, and instead of the usual, excited glint in his optics, Wheeljack's red optics seemed deadened, if a bit feral.

Twin Twist frowned, brass knuckles at the ready. It was more than just him attacking them. He had never seen Wheeljack fight so . . . EFFORTLESSLY. He knew the limitations of his Wrecking friend, and he had fought with him enough to know the difference. It was as if all of his imperfections in battle had been erased, made up for with raw strength, a kind of palpable energy that sizzled the air every time he used his ion cannon. The weapon hadn't been upgraded. But his strength was undeniable.

Topspin's fists clenched and flexed, and he gritted his jaw, forgetting the pain recently inflicted on him. From behind the broken bits of his visor, his optics peered out shrewdly. As he circled around Wheeljack's front, calculating his motions and staring at his optics, the absence of Wheeljack's usual reckless anger and exhilaration of battle troubled him. This wasn't the Wrecker he knew. Something in his optics was off, as if all the emotion had been ripped out of him.

Still, wired as Wheeljack's mind was, he still held a degree of cockiness. One fist curled and his ion cannon hummed with danger. "Come on, girls," he taunted them with an imperceptible raise of his brow. "What's the matter? Scared?"

"Concerned," Topspin cut in. The second he spoke Wheeljack turned to face him, following him as they circled, each brother unwilling to attack their friend again.

"You ought to be concerned about yourself," Wheeljack growled.

"We're not the ones currently trying to gut our friends," Twin Twist shot back. Wheeljack didn't turn his optics from Topspin though the other brother spoke. "What happened to you, Wheeljack?"

He gave a humorless, barking laugh. "Right. Friends. I'll believe that the day I meet you in the Pit!"

Topspin flinched back when Wheeljack charged. "Wheeljack, don't—!"

He ducked, avoiding a blow to his face before he was forced to attack. Both twins converged on the senseless mech. Topspin blocked several blows, and Wheeljack kept trying to shoot him in close proximity. He blocked with his forearms, knocking aside his fist and his cannon, blaster fire sizzling close to his audio receptors and exploding on the ground, flying into the air. The deadly dance continued until Wheeljack feinted back and intercepted the charging Twin Twist.

Topspin lunged, driving his fist home into the shoulder of Wheeljack's leading arm. The mech snarled in pain as his armor caved in with the impact of the punch, metal cracking and biting his protoform. A shrill scream raked sharply across their audio receptors, with the words, "Don't hurt him! Please! Please! Don't hurt him!" vaguely inside. Wheeljack, on the other hand, wasn't even fazed by the pain, but rather seemed to take some sort of twisted pleasure in it. His optics flared bright, enticed by the ruthless attack, and he returned it in kind.

Feeling the need for violence come up and choke him, Wheeljack lashed out at the two Wreckers. He clocked Twin Twist across his faceplates, sending the mech staggering back before he turned on Topspin attacking from the rear. He darted away from the swinging fists before driving his shoulder into the blue and white bot's stomach. Topspin shouted in surprise when he was lifted and hurled to the side, briefly crashing in a tangle with Twin Twist.

The twins flipped into symmetrical lunges before surging up as a united front against Wheeljack. Intercepting Topspin, Wheeljack attacked with a savagery the twins had never seen, fueled by the intoxicating drug of Synthen. He drew a blade suddenly, and armed with sword and cannon, made Topspin shout and duck beneath a swing. Twin Twist doubled up on him, driving his fist home square in the middle of his back. Something important cracked, and Wheeljack arched and snarled, throwing back an elbow. The force of the blow stunned the Wrecker, and the newly acclimated Decepticon whirled with a two-handed blow with his katana.

He hacked straight into Twin Twist's leading arm. The Wrecker screamed in pain, his blade digging in deep. Energon spurted, and a vital tension wire was cut. Instantly the arm was limp, flopping without use as Twin Twist staggered back and fell to the ground. Wheeljack lifted his katana for the killing blow before Topspin ran forward and barreled into him.

"Get out of here!" Topspin yelled at his twin. He suffered a flat-palmed hit to the bottom of his jaw, nearly shattering his articulators. To settle a score about his bleeding stomach, Topspin jabbed his armed knuckles into Wheeljack's gut. The mech grunted beneath him, and more armor cracked. "Take Miko and get out—!"

Twin Twist swore under his breath as he scrambled back to his peds, agony pouring from his limp arm. Wheeljack jammed his knee up into Topspin's pelvic plating, disarming the mech before flinging him off. His red optics blazed, irate that his prey was getting away, and he shot a volley of blaster fire his way.

Twin Twist dropped and rolled towards Miko who had come too far out into the combat area, waving her arms and crying out for Wheeljack's attention. He scooped up the human as he vaulted back to his peds, and as he ran away, he heard her shriek, "No! Bulkhead! Bulky!"

"We don't have—GAH!"

Twin Twist's words were punctuated with a cry when Wheeljack's ion cannon blasted his shoulder, nearly making him lose his grip on the tiny human. Gritting a groan and forcing himself to ignore the pain, Twin Twist fled with his human, gunfire sizzling past his helm.

Before Wheeljack could give pursuit, brass knuckles collided with his jaw. The force of it nearly broke it and knocked his articulators out, and he crashed to the ground heavily as Topspin panted sharp intakes in and out of his overheating systems.

He shook his hand, knuckles actually hurting a bit from the imprint he left on his brother-in-arms. He glared, a slanting frown coming across his faceplates as Wheeljack staggered back to his peds. "I don't know what's going on with you," Topspin told him tightly. "But I'm gonna find out. Even if I have to knock you unconscious to do so."

A sneering laugh fell from Wheeljack, contemptuous and cruel. His optics glared with the sense of hate, but there was no emotion there to back it up. Topspin shifted uncomfortably. "Is that what you think?" Wheeljack mocked him. He twirled his one katana, and his opposite hand's trigger finger twitched. "Once I'm through with you, I'll hunt down your brother and make sure he's dead, as well as the human."

Topspin circled slowly with him, keeping him talking so Twin Twist would have more of a head start. "Keep talking," he drawled. He set his jaw. "Wheeljack, what did they do to you? What happened?"

That deadened look stayed in his optics though his fists clenched and his optics narrowed. "Don't act like you don't know," he snarled. He spun his katana several times, restless and lusting for his energon.

Topspin recoiled a bit. What? His rapidly percolating mind tried to keep up with the words that fell in no apparent order or sense from his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

His hand slashed down. "You ask me one more Primus-damned question I'll cut your lip plates off," he threatened on a growl. "I've had enough of your lies. You're not gonna manipulate me anymore."

"I'm not!" Topspin cried out, backing away when Wheeljack prowled forward. "The Decepticons are the ones manipulating you!"

"No they aren't!" Wheeljack said harshly. His red optics glinted though a sea of nothingness bubbled up behind them. "You've always managed to twist my arm, Topspin. I'm through with having you in my processor. I'm through with everything you've done to me. If you've got a death wish on me, then so be it. I'll make sure to bring you down with me!"

Topspin gritted his dentures, fighting off Wheeljack's violent assault. Wheeljack pivoted, avoiding his next punch. Topspin avoided getting his audio receptor sheared off and suffered a sharp jab in his neck. He coughed on his articulators, clearing his vocalizer and fisting both hands and lambasting him across the cheek. When Wheeljack reeled, Topspin reached out and snagged one of the his back struts and gave it a good wrenching pull. It disconnected with a grisly shriek of metal, and Wheeljack roared in pain before whirling back around. His forearm slammed down on Topspin's vulnerable neck, clothes-lining the mech to the ground.

Topspin crashed in a heap, and kicked his peds out at Wheeljack's. He jumped flawlessly over the attack, and Topspin kicked up, managing to knock his assailant back and land on his feet. Before he could gain the upper hand again, Wheeljack surged forward with lighting quick speed. He cocked his fists and swept one across the side of Topspin's faceplates followed by the other driving his chin up. Stunned, Topspin stumbled backwards as they parted for the next collision. He spat a glob of energon out.

Wheeljack twirled the unused katana with a graceful lethality. One of his brows quirked up. "I should quit playing with you," he said off-handedly.

Topspin gave a grim laugh. Twin Twist and Miko were plenty far enough away. Now, if he could just break a leg or ankle so Wheeljack couldn't get away. "I know exactly how you fight," Topspin shot back. "You haven't been playing with me any more than I have you."

"You sure about that?" A humorless grin spread behind Wheeljack's battle mask. "You're my favorite toy, Spin."

Topspin's optics widened for a brief instant before Wheeljack began to press an attack that he was unable to resist. A combination of inexperience and growing exhaustion left him open to looming defeat. A sharp hit to his audio receptors disoriented him, and he suffered a blow across the top of his helm. Sparks of pain flashed through him. Kicking almost blindly, he managed to snap the axle in Wheeljack's ankle, and the mech staggered a moment before the attacks came hard and furious.

First it was a hit to his stomach. He instinctively curled protectively over himself and an uppercut sent him reeling. Then, he felt a leg sweep beneath him and the world tilted and crashed on end. Knees dug into his gut, dropping the full weight of his assailant on his stomach. He coughed and wheezed at the cruel blow, energon hacking from his throat.

The hilt of a katana jammed down on his forehead, nearly knocking him out, and the only thing that kept him conscious was the pain. He suffered under reckless and violent strikes as Wheeljack beat him into a bloody pulp, cracking his armor, snapping an arm until it broke, and the remains of his visor shattered, sending a shower of glistening shards over his face. Knuckles connected with his optic, and the part popped out from the force behind the blow, hanging by a wire.

Fingers curled over his chassis, and he felt himself slung up and to his peds. Topspin staggered, optics glitching as he tried to sort out from which side he was getting attacked, and a shove sent him staggering backwards. Before he could do anything, he screamed as a volley of gunfire impaled him from the front, blasting him over and over and over. He stumbled backwards, smoking and broken, and he hit the ground on his back. Somewhere above him, red optics glinted.

A sickening feeling filled his soul.

_ Twist—_

* * *

><p>Mid-run, Twin Twist felt it. A last, quick and desperate touch from his brother and then a snap, as if the heavy apprehension overcame his spark and crushed down. Suddenly, Topspin fell offline, before he could even say his last words, he was ripped away, leaving a gaping hole in his spark.<p>

He couldn't catch himself. He fell with a crash to the ground, on his weak arm, but he barely felt it. Miko squealed and tumbled out of his grip. A weird, rattling noise came from all around him echoed by a voice howling in the distance. Belatedly, he realized it was him. His frame was shaking uncontrollably. He was screaming.

"Twist! Twin Twist!"

A despairing moan shuddered from him. His fingers clawed into the ground, scrabbling at something for a handhold to the land of the living as the hole in his spark threatened to suck him into oblivion.

He was gone. Ripped away before he could even say anything. By . . . By Wheeljack. WHEELJACK. Another harsh cry strangled in the back of his vocalizer, and he felt hands on his face. Tiny hands. They were hitting him. He bit his glossia so hard he drew energon, but he managed to stifle his screams so he could hear her.

"Twist please, you've got to stay with me!" His optics flickered back on, and Miko was right in front of him, almost delirious with panic as she knew the symptoms of spark break. Tears slipped down her face. "Please! I need you! You can't leave me!"

His lips trembled in the effort to speak. Instead, all he could manage was a wordless groan, and he arched across the ground. Betrayed. Half of his spark gone. He was dead. Dying.

"Twin Twist!" Her particularly sharp shriek when he shuttered his optics yanked his processor away from the darkness overcoming him. "You promised! You guys promised you would take care of me! You promised!"

A part of him didn't see the point anymore. He didn't want to live. He wanted the darkness to take him into oblivion. A secret part of himself welcomed the end.

"Don't leave me, Twin Twist, please—Please! You can't leave me, please, I need you! I need you! You can't leave me alone, please!"

A part of his soul was fading. But he looked up, seeing his despair mirrored in Miko's eyes, and terror. She had no one if he allow the spark break to consume him. Wheeljack would kill her. He had already tried. She needed him.

A ragged gasp caught in his vocalizer, and he turned his helm into the dirt, fighting the agony stealing over his consciousness. She needed him. It wasn't about him anymore. They had promised to take care of her for Wheeljack. They had. And it didn't matter if one of them fell. They had promised to take care of her, no matter what. Even if it meant one without the other. By letting go somehow . . . unshackled and unbound . . . He had to make it. For her.

It wasn't about himself anymore. He lived for her.

With a grating groan, Twin Twist felt tears dripping from his face. He pressed his palm flat on the ground, struggling to rise. His vents shuddered with critical irregularity. "M-Miko . . ." He lifted his heavy helm, naked pain mirrored in his optics. "I—I can't . . ."

"Yes you can!" she burst immediately. She wiped her eyes, shaking, and she swallowed, throat bobbing as she looked up at him. "You can do it, Twist. Please. It's gonna be all right. I'm here."

Her words caused a sob to jerk from his vocalizer and heave from his chassis. He shivered, anguish crawling over his circuits. His misery threatened to drag him down into an abyss he would never surface from. The pressure was closing in, taking him away. "Miko . . . Miko, I'm sorry . . ."

"No! You can't go!" She reached up, and her hands cupped his cheeks. She pressed her forehead into his chin, and he felt her trembling. A breath quivered in and out of her. She lifted her head. He needed her more than she needed him. "It's gonna be all right," she managed again, trying to steel herself for the grieving Wrecker. HER Wrecker. They were all her Wreckers. "Deep breaths. You can do it, Twist. You're gonna be all right. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He winced. His servo scooped her in close, and he picked her up, putting her on his shoulder. He staggered to his peds, needing to get away from the area where his brother had fallen. He had to get away from . . . Wheeljack. He had to protect her from the one mech he swore he was protecting her for.

Though his spark sputtered violently and his knees were weak in sorrow, he stumbled on. Miko continued to whispered sweet nothings in his audio receptor, bolstering his courage when his own failed.

* * *

><p>Wheeljack jerked his katana out of Topspin's chassis. Slick energon dripped from the tip of his blade as he stared down on the dead Wrecker. Panting, he looked in the direction of which he had been shooting at Twin Twist. He was long gone by now, and his ankle wasn't going to support him from where Topspin got that last cheap shot in.<p>

He'd let the Wrecker go today. There was plenty of time to savor the hunt. He would only weaken over time with that spark break.

Instead, Wheeljack simply limped his way across the field of battle and picked up his wing strut Topspin had torn off. Then, he accessed the Decepticon lines, saying, "Lord Megatron, I am ready for a ground bridge." Hefting up the dead body with a hand, Wheeljack took a step and a sharp hiss met his audios.

He looked down at the tawny brown cat hissing at him. The ground bridge blasted open. With disinterest, Wheeljack drew his ion cannon and vaporized the remnants of Bulkhead.

Stalking through the bridge, Wheeljack found himself back on the bridge of the NEMESIS, his superiors waiting patiently. Starscream made a strangled, choking sound as Wheeljack tossed Topspin's body at Megatron's peds.

"Twin one of two," he told him without inflection.

Megatron's lips curled into a sadistic smirk, and before he could say anything, Starscream burst, "But—That's not fair! The other one's just going to die of the spark break!"

"No he won't." Starscream stuttered to a halt at Wheeljack's flat tone. He glowered. "He'll live. If anything for that human."

"Very well done, Wheeljack!" Megatron complimented him amicably as he saw the remains of the Autobot laid to waste. "I'm proud of your accomplishment. That's more than I can say for OTHERS aboard my ship." He scowled pointedly in Starscream's direction, and the mech shrank. "Go see Knockout for repairs. You have done well and deserve a rest."

Wheeljack simply bowed as much as he would while in his condition before limping down the halls of the warship. Again, every Vehicon and Insecticon shied away from him with a lingering sense of foreboding. They glared. They avoided him. They were just as much afraid of him as they shunned him, a curious juxtaposition that spoke of his skills.

When he staggered his way into the med bay, Knockout jumped before relaxing. "Oh, it's you." He clucked his glossia. "You look like you've been through the Pit and back."

Wheeljack grumbled as he sat himself down on a medical berth, grunting in irritation. "Nah. The Pit's overrated. Your paint job on the other hand . . ."

"Ha ha. Very funny."

Wheeljack shrugged, feeling nothing. It was bothering him. What the hell was up with that? A quick scan over himself found the source of the problem—his emotional centre. He turned his glare on Knockout.

"Why is my emotional centre off?"

Knockout picked up his welder, and he turned, arching a curious brow at him. "I thought it was a personal preference . . .?"

He trailed off. Wheeljack stared. He had always kept his emotional centre off. Was that it? Wheeljack instead covered up his confusion with a grunt, sensing something was off. "Right." He held out his wing strut. "Put that back on and patch me up and I'll be gone from this dump."

Knockout scowled. "Right. The sooner you're out of my undercarriage the better."

Wheeljack snorted. "Like I'd want to be anywhere near your underused, rusted out undercarriage."

A sharp hiss of annoyance as he worked. "If anything is underused around here, Wheeljack, it would be you."

"Was that a jibe on how many times I've been laid, or was it a clumsy effort to hit on me?"

The vain medic made a horrified sound. "Hit on you? Ugh, please, I have much better tastes in mechs than a blowout like yourself."

"They wouldn't happen to be handheld then, would they?" The medic stiffened, and Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Oh, that's right. You like mechs like patchy the pirate?"

As Knockout put the finishing touches on his wing, he gave it a last particularly fierce twist that made Wheeljack wince and hiss. "I'm sorry," he commented airily for his rough treatment. "What was that last one again?"

"I said you had a thing for a mech missing both an optic and a peg—"

"Oh, never mind, I'm not that interested anyways.

Wheeljack cringed again when he attacked his shattered shoulder armor particularly fiercely. The mental barbs as well as the rough treatment was wanting to jog something in his memory banks, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. "I'd be careful hurting your patient. He might have little patience and might decide to snap your neck for the hell of it."

Knockout snorted. "Right. The only medic on this ship. Try again, Jack-aft."

"At your skill level, you're not hard to replace, elf-helm," he muttered.

"Tell me that the next time you come in here and need a patch job, you white-washed, slack-jawed, microchip moron."

"Say no to me and see where you end up. The trash compactor is not a nice place for a virus-infected, slag for brains knock-off."

The imaginative slander didn't cease. If anything, it gave Knockout someone to talk to and Wheeljack an outlet to the frustration and anger that seemed to permanently bubbled up inside of him. Still, for all the entertainment was worth, Wheeljack was relieved to leave the med bay with another cube of the Synthen to refuel himself. Sharpening his wit was taxing, and it reminded him of why he didn't particularly care to do it that often.

Wheeljack entered his designated quarters, the room bare and devoid of personality. He sank down on his berth, relieved to finally relax a little. As he choked down the foul tasting energon, he contemplated himself.

There was no good reason for his emotional centre to be turned off. Knockout had sounded surprised when he asked about it, but who was to say the slimy Decepticon hadn't tampered with it? He didn't remember turning it off. And turning it off was a sign of weakness. He controlled his emotions so they didn't control him. He didn't need them turned off, and he didn't want them turned off.

Still, even with that knowledge, he hesitated to turn them back on. He didn't personally know a bot that had turned off his emotional centre, but rumor had it that the backlash was particularly strong.

Had he turned it off for a reason? He didn't know, but what he did know was that he didn't particularly trust Knockout. Something was off about the vain medic, though he hid it well. Draining the last of the strong energon, the buzzing taste of it burned his olfactory system, and he cast it across the room. The sound of the empty cube striking the floor ricocheted sharply in the silence before Wheeljack popped his spark chamber open.

He ran scans. In the back of his optics, information filtered through his processor. It registered the new patches and the cause and effect of the wounds across his body. Everything was running at a startlingly smooth efficiency, a perk tantamount to the Synthen powering him to overcharged. Everything was wired correctly, and his functioning as at its absolute best.

Then, he began to get errors.

It was his processor. Error after error popped up, warning signals, corrupt files, and the sheer audacity of his cluttered and disoriented mind left him reeling. He waited impatiently for the errors to stop assaulting him, but the list grew until it seemed to extend beyond what could be fixed. Last came the most disturbing of it all.

His body did not register his Neurocaroxic spark line.

Wheeljack frowned as the new information pooled. His Neurocaroxic line was a vital component of his spark. It was the one line that connected his spark to his processor, and the memory transfer line between the spark and processor. It was the major spark bonding line. Without it, his memories would be blocked. Not to say of what twisted stuff was going on with his processor.

Looking through his spark chamber, Wheeljack's lips slanted into a fierce frown. His Neurocaroxic line was gone. Completely. Someone had taken it out. And he suspected that someone was Knockout.

He closed his spark chamber doors with a brooding grumble. None of that made sense. To what end would he do that to himself? Or why didn't the Decepticons want him to know. He was tempted to run a defrag process until morning to clear out all of the corrupt and tampered files, but he hesitated because he didn't know what was blocking him from getting into them. He didn't know the information they held, and they were likely memories unable to be accessed without his Neurocaroxic line.

With a perturbed rumble, Wheeljack let it be. He could worry about that another time. For now, he wanted to know exactly what was going on his with emotional centre and why he had turned it off. And the only way he would know took an action that he took immediately:

_ Accessing emotional centre manual controls: Switching emotional centre on._


	51. Better Dig Two

**Author's Note:**

**You know, if I get 13 reviewers on this chapter, I'll have hit 500 reviews! Think 13 of you have got a review in you? There's a lot going on in this chapter!**

**And as for my choice to kill Topspin and Bulky... if you guys never caught it, that song Topspin played for Miko? "Your Guardian Angel" had the lyrics "I'll be there for you through it all! Even if saving you sends me to heaven . . . !" SENDS ME TO HEAVEN. That was called foreshadowing, my dears, I had planned Topspin to die for a while. :( Bulky was just a whim.**

**But seriously, if anyone wants to draw a freaking sexy Decepticon Wheeljack, I think I'd swoon and die. ^^**

* * *

><p>For a brief moment, it was the calm before the storm. Wheeljack sat on the edge of his berth, bracing himself for the impact of his emotions coming back full force from where they had been bottled up. For a second, he was balanced on the edge, teetering between calm and chaos, in a sort of nether realm locked impenetrably in between.<p>

The next, he was swept away in the tide.

Guilt slammed into him so hard Wheeljack jerked and lost his balance, equilibrium pitching to the side. Wildly, his limbs flailed until he gasped a ragged breath, the sensation so strong it curdled his energon tanks and ripped through his soul. Wheeljack curled up, suffering the nauseating whirlwind of remorse, shame, and agony as the emotions coursed endlessly through his body.

He was coming apart. The tattered pieces of him were coming apart, seams unbound and breaking to pieces on the floor, and his arms wrapped around himself, trying to hold himself together. A sob cracked from his vocalizer.

The memories plagued him. He writhed, feeling like he was reliving every moment of the barbaric fight. Knowing he had murdered the Wrecker split apart his processor and tore apart his spark, and the sickening vortex churned his energon tanks. Wheeljack purged, gagging on the bitter taste of the Synthen as it spurted between his lips. The sensation gave him a taste of the fury, denial, regret, and shame that stung his olfactory systems with a pungent stench.

It was even the cat. It was even the damn cat. Wheeljack vomited again, Synthen spilling from his mouth and dribbling on his chin. A wave of dizziness crashed over him, and he toppled on his side, nearly falling in the dim glow of his mess as he writhed on the floor. Shaking with tears and nauseated guilt, Wheeljack struggled not to purge again as his chassis heaved with the effort.

The whirlpool of turbulent emotions dragged him under. For a second, he thought he blacked out before the pain began to abate. Slowly. The pressure lifted, and for a terrible second, Wheeljack was afraid it would take him again. Terrified he would be swept away and crashed into the rocky shore, smashed to pieces by the wave of emotion that flooded over him.

But it was over. He trembled on the floor, seizing in physical and mental agony. His optics stared at the far wall, at the leg of his berth, unseeing except for the vision of the broken Wrecker he pinned beneath him. Gutting him. The energon that splashed. A wordless moan clawed out of his throat, and Wheeljack held himself tighter, fighting the sensation of being pulled apart. It was all he could take. No more. No more. Never again.

For one moment, as he slowly gained control of himself, Wheeljack almost turned his emotional centre back off. That was why he had kept it off in the first place, right? He couldn't take that. Not again. Never. He wouldn't do it. But he kept it on. After going through all of that, he would keep his emotional centre on just to spite himself. His pride wouldn't let him turn it off.

With it, anger. So much anger. He was furious. His optics flickered as everything recalibrated and tried to settle. Something had happened to him, and he didn't know what.

But by Primus, _he was going to find out._

Wheeljack staggered to his peds, unable to think past the medic that had so called patched him up. Though he had purged so much Synthen on the floor, there was plenty of it still running in his systems. It fueled his rage. It tormented him, slashed pure, white-hot hate and teased his mind with the promise of bloody gore.

Wiping his mouth roughly with the back of his hand, Wheeljack stalked out, on the hunt for precious red metal. His violent demeanor scattered any Vehicon and Insecticon in the halls, leaving him to prowl the halls alone.

The doors to the med bay whizzed open, and Knockout looked up. He blinked wide. "Wheel—"

The medic's words were choked by a servo clamping on his neck and hoisting him up. "All right, you pathetic excuse for a doctor, if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'll snap your neck and rip whatever I want to know right out of your processor."

Knockout gasped, choking and peds kicking. "L-Let go of me, you underhanded brute—!"

Wheeljack shook him violently until his legs flailed like a limp doll's. "YOU listen to ME now, you piece of tin!" He flung the medic across the room with strength unparalleled, and Knockout grunted loudly when he crashed into the wall. Wheeljack stalked forward, and before he could gather his bearings, he hoisted the CMO up and slammed his back down on the closest medical berth.

"All right, you waste of metal," he growled. He forced down on him, pinning him with almost crushing weight. Knockout struggled, claws grabbing his wrists and fighting to hold him off. "What did you do to me?"

Knockout gritted his dentures. "I-I don't understand. What are you—?"

Wheeljack lifted him up and slammed him back down again. Knockout shouted. "I'M the one asking the questions!" Wheeljack snarled in his face. "Now you can either tell me what I want to know or I can make this a VERY unpleasant interrogation. What did you do to me?"

His optics were naked with panic. If that didn't brand him as guilty, no amount of evidence would. "I didn't do anything!" he gasped out weakly.

Unimpressed, Wheeljack felt his rage peak. He slung the medic down on the ground, and he stamped his ped down on the side of his knee. The metal cracked and broke out of joint, causing a scream to jump out of the red Decepticon's vocalizer.

Wheeljack grabbed him, hoisted him back up, and slammed him back down on the medical berth. Knockout blanched and trembled beneath him, realizing he was outmatched horribly while Wheeljack was hyped up on the addictive Synthen.

"Let's try this again," Wheeljack growled. His servo moved from the medic's chassis and to his neck. His other hand coaxed its way slowly to his helm with the silent threat to snap his neck. "I want to know why you've been rooting around in my processor and why you've taken out my Neurocaroxic spark line."

Knockout trembled beneath his power. He was so scared his glossia stumbled and he stuttered. "I—I don't . . . I d-d-don't know what you're—you're—talking about!"

"Oh I think you do," Wheeljack purred dangerously. He let his fingers tighten, and the medic jerked wildly beneath him. "Let me remind you, sweet spark, I can get a bit crazy." His lip curled up at the unabashed panic in those red optics. "I have this way of getting what I want, and I don't care if I have to crack open your processor to find out. Now, do you want to tell me, or do I have to—"

Before he could finish his threat, the doors to the medical bay opened up, and a sharp, "Wheeljack! Stand down!" cut through the air.

Ignoring the order, Wheeljack jerked Knockout up and wrapped his arm around his neck. His hand gripped the medic's helm more vigorously than before, bending his neck as far as it would go without breaking it. Knockout shuddered thin vents as he quite visibly panicked, and Wheeljack narrowed his red optics at Megatron and Soundwave. His optics flicked to the latter of the two. They had probably come the second he left his berth room. He bet the entire place was bugged.

"All right," Wheeljack snarled aggressively. "If someone doesn't tell me what in Pit is going on with me, I'll snap his neck without a second thought."

Megatron vented sharply in irritation, placing his servos on his hips. "Stand down, Wheeljack. I can't have you killing my chief medical officer. He would be hard to replace at this point and time in the war."

His red optics glinted viciously. "I'm not a trick you can play, Megatron! If you value this wretch, then I suggest you start talking!"

"I take it you turned on your emotional centre." Megatron hiked a brow when Wheeljack refused to respond. "Soundwave showed me the security footage. Intense backlash, I see. I believe the trauma is making you highly unpredictable at this moment. I believe it would be best if we all took a deep cycle and talked this out like civilized folk."

He did have a point. But that didn't soothe the fires of suspicion and rage licking over his circuits. "What do you know about my emotional centre?" he asked harshly. He tried to control his vents. They heaved out of his chest like a raging bull, and he couldn't help but feel a little cornered, outnumbered, and lied to.

Megatron's brow lifted imperceptibly again. "Next to nothing," he stated. "You are only the second mech I know that has turned off his emotional centre, but the first to turn it back on. I did not realize the side effect would be quite so severe."

Wheeljack growled. Shockwave. "I meant why was it turned OFF?"

He gave him a look that was impossible to read. "I believed it was a personal preference." Wheeljack's gaze flattened. "I believe the reasons a mech would turn his emotional centre off would be personal, and not shared. However, with a backlash like that, I can see why you would choose to turn it off."

And again, they blamed it on him. He didn't remember turning it off. Had it been off for so long? Or were they all in league against him? It was impossible to tell. Regardless, the damage there had been done.

Megatron took an amicable step forward, and Wheeljack stiffened. His grip tightened on Knockout. "Now if you would please, release my medic."

"Not a chance," Wheeljack snarled. He backed up several steps, making several cries catch in Knockout's vocalizer when his broken leg dragged. "Where's my Neurocaroxic line?"

A flash of surprise crossed Megatron's face. Whether real or forged, Wheeljack couldn't tell. "It's not there?" He glanced at Soundwave for confirmation, and Soundwave canted his helm towards Knockout for confirmation. Degree by degree, Wheeljack lessened his harsh grip on the medic enough for him to cough.

"He's never had it," the medic wheezed out thinly. He trembled in fear, glossia stuttering as he hurriedly made something up. "I thought he knew!"

Soundwave's helm turned quickly up to Megatron, and something flicked on the screen. Recognition darted across his face plates. Wheeljack narrowed his red optics, studying the mech for deceit.

"I'm sure you remember your torture at the hands of Ratchet," Megatron started in. Wheeljack glowered, daring him to bring that heathenish pit back up, but his rapidly calculating mind knew exactly what the warlord was hinting at. He still proceeded to tell him, "It never occurred to me that the mech would resort to such savagery as that, to strip you of your Neurocaroxic line. I am sure we can replace it as soon as we possibly can."

"I want it replaced now," Wheeljack bit out. He tightened his grip on Knockout again, causing a weak whimper to spill from the manhandled mech.

Megatron shook his head. "I am afraid that is not possible. We haven't had a spare Neurocaroxic line in ages. It is not a part readily donated, after all."

"Then Topspin's," Wheeljack cut in angrily. "He's the right size. His will fit."

A sorrowful look crossed Megatron's features. "If I knew you had wanted it this badly, I would not have smelted him down for spare parts so readily." Wheeljack spat a swear under his breath. Megatron gave him another unreadable look, veiled by shields of lies and half-truths. His web of trickery was unable to be pierced. "However, if you are that determined to get it back, I am sure Twin Twist's will fit. All you have to do is deliver the body."

Wheeljack glared, silently standing off with the warlord. Something was still off. Something was wrong, and the twisted lies around him weren't helping things any. After several brooding seconds where he considered his options, Wheeljack finally gave a sharp nod. "Done." He slung Knockout to the ground, making the wounded Decepticon grunt and drag himself off to the side. His red optics glared into Megatron's, trying to cut the truth from him.

"You've got yourself a deal."

* * *

><p>Elita feared the worst. They had been tracking two spark signatures. Then, one fell offline.<p>

At least, they only had one spark signature they were converging on. She theorized that if it was Topspin and Twin Twist, as the twins would have been able to find each other easily with their spark bond, then it could just be their sparks overlapping. Since twins had a split spark, if they were close enough together, their signatures would blend together as one.

Still, Elita held no reservations on the gravity of the situation. This was their only hope, but they shouldn't bank on it.

She also held no reservations about shooting at the beast attacking the lone Autobot below.

Taking swift aim, her thumb mashed the button and fired a blast directly to the flying monster. Its screech filled the air, and it tumbled back down into the rubble of the blasted energon mine. Swooping the ship down low, Prowl immediately lowered the hatch for the blue and white mech below, and winds and dust ripped into the interior with a vengeance. Elita pressed her lips together, hands tightening on the controls as the thing took flight again, darting towards them, fireballs at hand.

The second Twin Twist jumped on the lowered hatch, Arcee waved her hand to Prowl. "Go!" The hatch began to lift back up, and Elita took the controls and lifted them up higher into the sky.

The hatch closed and revealed a staggered Twin Twist and a nervous Miko. The mech in question turned with a cannon drawn, but he disarmed himself immediately seeing Arcee. Friendly. Bending, he winced slightly because of his right shoulder, the metal melted some from the beast's fire and protoform beneath boiled. He let Miko hop off his hand.

"Jack!"

Twin Twist looked up at Arcee, and he could see her biting her lip, trying not to ask the question of obvious. Forcibly, he took a steadying vent and gave a small shake of his helm.

Concern flooded her optics. "Twin—"

With one stride he had crossed the room and picked her up in a giant hug. She made a stifled sound of surprise, but he just kept his arms latched tightly around her, needing that comforting touch to soothe him.

Miko threw her arms around Jack's neck, partially choking him with the strength she held him. He hugged her too, but before he could speak, she pulled back and hit him in the stomach. He grunted, holding his gut and blinking widely at her.

"Mik—"

"You owe me a prom!" she snapped angrily at him, so twisted by the whirlwind of passion that had wrecked over her life and loved ones that she grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him close and kissed him. Then, she threw her arms around him, so grateful to see him that she had to try not to cry. His arms wrapped around her again, rubbing her back silently as he looked up at Arcee doing similar to Twin Twist.

Something was wrong. So wrong.

"Pleasantries will have to wait," Prowl said strictly when Elita One failed to interrupt. "Does anyone want to tell us what is converging from the rear?"

Elita's optics flicked to the rear cameras, seeing the massive wingspan stretching, wings flapping, strong beats that kept a strong beast aloft and chasing. "We think it's a robot dragon," Miko said, quickly letting go of Jack and wiping her eyes.

"Or a Cybertronian reptile," she heard Jack murmur.

Miko elbowed him again. "Same thing," she muttered back.

Elita swerved the ship through the clouds, and she set her jaw when the dragon drew into firing range. "Brace yourselves!" she ordered. Jerking the controls sharply, she sought to dart the ship away, and the entire hull shuddered as the engines growled and kicked, jerking them out of the crosshairs.

The creature was too agile. Ultra Magnus's ship was certainly nimble, but compared to the dragon behind them? She didn't stand a chance in this massive thing. They were too large a target, too slow compared to the speed attacking them. Now if she had HER ship which was much smaller and quicker, not this heavy-hitting lumbering thing Ultra Magnus was so partial too, she might be able to get out in one piece.

"Strap in!" she ordered, and she immediately heard a scramble behind her as the bots situated themselves. Her spark rate picked up, adrenaline starting to pump as the dragon closed in on the rear and attacked.

A fireball blasted out, streaming a tail of flames behind it, and Elita jerked the ship to the side, avoiding the blast. Yanking the controls back, she twisted the ship around in a daring 360 and forced the ship to dart forward again, chasing after their hunter.

Her fingers mashed the fire button. Well, at least if they couldn't get away, maybe they could at least hurt this thing and make it think twice about attacking them.

The first barrage missed narrowly to the right, but her second wave of bullets hit nicely in the beast's flanks. It roared out, darting forward through the clouds, and Elita One followed it, pressing Ultra Magnus's ship's engines close to their maximum limit of thrust as she tried to keep up.

They drifted through a cloud. She set her jaw, not liking the lack of visibility, and realized she had lost the beast. But it was still out there. The sensors were still picking up her enemy close by. Her peds shifted, and her optics stared out shrewdly.

Her spark started when the dragon suddenly drew up in front of them, and she could almost FEEL Prowl stiffen in the seat next to her. Its chest parted, and she saw the dim glow start in its neck.

No time to ram it!

Without a second though, Elita jerked the controls to the side and sent them spiraling dizzyingly away. The fireball blasted out, and instead of hitting them with direct lethality, a jerk and crash shuddered the hull of the ship as the fireball clipped the left rear engine.

There was no way this was going to work. They needed to lose it, not fight it! Tipping the controls up and angling them down, the ship responded in time, a faint screaming of engines greeting her for the near-abuse of the ship. Her optics flicked quickly over the damage. Mostly structural, sparking, smoking with a small fire, not detrimental but certainly enough to garner attention. Prowl leaned forward and pressed a button, and the side flaps closed, muffling the fire. Smoke still poured out, but now the engines wouldn't catch fire and blow.

It left Elita to navigate and dance the deadly air battle with the dragon pecking at their tailpipes. She swerved around several more blasts before she realized the dragon was gone from her sensors. Wait, what—

Something heavy landed on top of the ship. Elita blinked, and she looked up. Oh no . . . not good!

The dragon made itself known by prowling over the top of the hull and to the front. Blazing yellow optics looked in the windshield at them, and it screeched a grating roar. The humans screamed. Elita leaned back in her chair, taken aback, and then she gritted her teeth and jerked the ship down into the narrow gorge below.

She jerked the ship from side to side, sending the beast skidding for handholds across the top. When she could, she took advantage of every protruding rock formation and slammed the dragon against it, eliciting enraged roars as it struggled to keep its hold on them. They darted with extreme speeds in the narrow valleys, and Prowl's hands gripped his seat like vices.

"Commander," he finally had to state tightly, "you are making me very nervous."

Her lip curled up, and she had to laugh slightly at him though she didn't let her optics flicker away from the road—figuratively speaking, of course. "Trust me, Prowl," she told him before jerking the ship again, and a rock formation shattered against the dragon's flank, making it screech and rubble to fly over the windshield. "I know what I'm doing."

"That fails to console me," he said back, lurching in his seat when she rocked the other way, sending the dragon skidding across the top again. "Ma'am, if you continue on this course of action we have a 17.984 percent chance of making it out alive, deaths either caused by the monstrosity attacking us or your own suicidal flight patterns—"

She turned the controls, turning them in a sharp and steep curve around the next curb. "Nonsense, Prowl," she said back to the high strung mech. "I—"

She cut off sharply, snapping her jaw together when a rock face loomed threateningly in their line of path. The ship angled up, the bottom of the hull nearly skidding on the cliff face, and her optics sighted the jutting rock at the top. Lip curling in concentration, she whipped the ship around so the dragon was facing inward, drifted them so close the hull was going to have its paint stripped by the rock, and slammed the dragon into the rock face.

The ship jerked and the engines whined as she forcibly pulled them up and twisted them back to an upright position, dragon left crashing to the valley floor behind them. "There!" she said with a huff, satisfied now that they had finally left the beast behind—especially when her rear cameras never showed the dragon crawling out of the valley. She turned a satisfied smile to him. "See? I told you to trust me."

She watched him purse his lips, fighting back words. She smiled warmly, amused at his high-strung personality, and she just shook her head at him. Setting their course towards the only other two Autobot signals left, her spark dipped. Eight. There were supposed to be eight of them, and she was only going to be able to gather four. Half of them.

Hiding her worry about the decimated front and loss of soldiers, Elita turned around to look back at the soldiers she had saved. "Is everybody all right?"

A chorus of conflicting voices.

"Yeah, I think we're okay—"

"No, we're not—"

"Yes, we're all right—"

"Never."

She paused, seeing who had spoken what, and her spark sank. Elita turned back to the controls briefly and set the ship on autopilot before standing and coming to stand in front of them. Her brows darkened in worry as she saw Twin Twist's servos gripping his seat tightly, an unsteady gaze in his optics as he stared at the floor. Crossing the room and making sure neither of the humans were underfoot, Elita squatted knees-closed in front of the Wrecker.

"Twin Twist?" He immediately flinched as if her words were an attack. Slowly reaching out, Elita touched his stressing hand. She resisted the urge to ask if he was all right—he wasn't. They all knew it. Just . . . the absence of Topspin said it all. Soothing small circles over his servo with her thumb, Elita nodded to Arcee. "Arcee, could you grab the welder? He's leaking." The second she said it, she wished she hadn't. She shook her head, quickly standing to her peds and retracting her statement with, "I'm sorry. I know you don't like medical procedures. I'll do it."

Arcee leapt to her peds. "N-No! That's all right, Ma'am, I can—"

Elita turned and gave her a look. With that look, Arcee froze, and Elita's brows pinched. Something was . . . different about Arcee too. She acted different around her. She acted almost like she didn't even know her. Mentally keeping tabs to talk to her too, Elita moved on to grab the welder and return to Twin Twist's side. The smaller human girl walked up, putting her hand on Twin Twist's leg.

"Easy," she whispered. "It's gonna be all right."

Elita glanced down at Miko before she tried to focus on her repairs to Twin Twist's shoulder. The mech shifted, reaching down and letting the human climb onto his hand and brought her up close to his face. He vented, sending her pink pigtails flattening back. "Miko . . . You can't promise me that . . ."

"Yes I can." Again, Elita's optics flicked to the small human—she had been the one to help Twin Twist through the spark break. Possibly all he held on for at this rate. She placed her small hands on his cheeks, giving him a look. "You've just got to let me promise things like that. Okay? Okay? I . . . need you just as much as you need me."

Something hitched in the back of Twin Twist's systems, and he closed his optics, bowed his head, and nodded. Elita tried to focus on the quick repairs, welding the few parts back closed, but something was . . . familiar about the human if she let herself dwell on it for too long.

She began to sing softly. "I'm here without you, baby . . . But you're still on my lonely mind . . . I think about you, baby . . . And I dream about you all the time . . . I'm here without you, baby . . . But you're still with me in my dreams . . ."

Elita quietly made her way from their side, replacing the welder, but the quiet song was interrupted by an audible hitch in Twin Twist's systems and an abrupt, "Arcee," that made Miko stop singing. He lifted his weary head, staring at the femme.

"I'm sorry."

Arcee shifted. Her throat moved. "What are you talking about?" she finally asked.

Twin Twist shook his head and looked back down. "You . . . should know . . . You all should know, need to know . . . It was Wheeljack." Miko pressed her forehead to his chin, leaning on him for support. He squeezed his optics shut, shuddering softly in remembrance. "He . . . He's a Decepticon now," he admitted on a rasp. "I don't know why. But he is, and he . . . he . . . killed Topspin."

Elita felt her optics widen. A turncoat? But why? And then, she saw Arcee. The femme looked stricken, horror and relief and anger and hopelessness all bound into one crippling look. And then she sank. She sank to the floor, knees giving out at some point as she fought some inner turmoil.

A quick sweep of the staggered group, and Elita knew all she needed to know that Wheeljack was an important mech in their lives. More important than themselves. And, there wasn't a thing she could do to ease their pain.

The ride to Ratchet and Bumblebee was a quiet one, but it was a blessing. The medic immediately fussed over Ultra Magnus's critical condition, berating Elita in kind with his usual coarse bedside manner that made her spark thrum with welcome nostalgia. She could talk with the medic later, when things calmed down. For now, the bots outside were getting acquainted with Prowl and were reuniting. Ratchet had his hands full recalibrating Ultra Magnus's Cybernetic life support system and diagnosing his condition, so that left Elita to quietly make her way to her berth room on the ship.

Alone, she sank down on the berth, feeling her spark weighted, sinking, fading. She reached out to Optimus. He was distant, weak, and that she had to try so hard for their once-strong connection scared her.

_Optimus. Prowl and I have collected what remains of your team._

_ Good._

_ I . . . only managed to find half. Arcee, Twin Twist, Ratchet, and Bumblebee. The humans, too. Ratchet is taking care of Ultra Magnus. I'm certain he'll survive under his treatment. Topspin . . . Topspin is gone. Wheeljack has . . . become a turncoat._

The response flared across her conscience like a dying ember struggling to keep burning. The emotions that crossed and overlapped intertwined into an incomprehensible mess.

_No. He would never. Someone must have tampered with his processor._

_ That is the conviction of the others. But . . . He was the one who terminated Topspin._

Sorrow bled across her spark, feedback from Optimus who lay bared naked to her, unable to filter the pain he felt he was so weak. Finally, unable to conceal her uncertainties any longer, Elita had to wrap her arms around herself, longing for his touch.

_Optimus . . . Their morale is crushed. Twin Twist is fading, and without Miko, he would be gone already. This team is shattered. Broken. We need something. Hope has to come from another door, a window, you always promised there was always light in our darkest hour._

The silence on the other side weighted heavily. He was as quiet as the ocean at night, midnight blue reflecting across black skies coated in steel grey clouds. Dark. Fathomless. Deep. Foreboding and empty.

_Elita . . . My love . . . I am sorry._

Her arms tightened around herself.

_My time has come._

_ No! No, Optimus, you can't, not now . . . We need you. _I _need you! I did NOT come across galaxies upon galaxies searching for you only to lose you! You'll hold on. That's an order._

A faint, desperate sense of humor colored his emotions.

_Ah, Elita . . . I love you so much._

_ Then you won't leave me. You promised me, Optimus. When this war wasn't here, when we weren't leaders, when we were still just naïve Orion Pax and Ariel . . . You and I promised that we would love each other longer than forever. To the end of time. Until time rewinds itself and we could love each other again for another lifetime._

His spark bled in pain. She felt his consciousness wrapping her in his undying devotion, comforting and strong despite his weakness of the body.

_We promised each other to love beyond death. Nothing could keep us apart. If we would ever meet in the Well of All Sparks or even in the Pit, we would go together._

_ Elita . . . Please . . ._

_ I gave you my spark when we took those vows. I meant them back then and I mean them right now. Optimus, please . . ._

Tears began to fall from her optics. She held herself as tight as she could, desperate to hold herself together when everything she stood for, everything she fought for, everyone she cared for fell apart.

_I'm begging you . . . Don't leave me._

_ . . . It is not a choice that is mine to make._

She winced. With a soft sob, she pitched to her knees, hugging herself in the floor.

_Elita . . . There will be a new Prime. You and Ultra Magnus must teach him. Show him compassion. Strength. Patience. Love him._

Another sob broke from the rose colored femme's lips. She nodded, shuddering in agony.

_I will. I will love him. I will love him as if he were my own son._

_ That is all I can ask of you. I love you, Elita. More than life itself._

_ I will go to the Pit or the Well before I let you go._

_ Elita . . ._

_ I won't leave you, Optimus. I refuse. If death ever do us part, the gravedigger will have to dig two. You are a part of me. I have been bonded to you for so long, I have relied on you for so long, I have loved you for so long that the difference between your spark and mine have blurred until we are truly ONE. The flesh become one. Till all are one._

She bowed miserably over the floor, prostrating herself to the mech she treasured more than her own life. She choked back the sobs, unwilling to let Ratchet hear in the other room. Tears dripped from her face, burning her optics with searing passion.

_Elita, please . . . Don't do this._

_ Then don't leave me . . . I beg you . . ._

_ I . . . I must. He is calling me. I hear him beckon . . . I will resist as long as I can, but Elita . . . You must promise me . . . Do not die for my sake. Do not let yourself fade. You are a beautiful, strong femme, and I was blessed to cherish you. You have made my life worth living. Wonderful, rich, and adventurous._

She pressed her hands to her face, fighting the spark break creeping over her. His exquisite appraisal of her only hurt worse.

_Stop . . . Please . . ._

_ You make me proud by the graceful way you walk. I listen for your voice on every breath of the wind. You are the light in my darkest hour._

_ Stop, stop, Optimus, please . . ._

_ I love you, Elita One. To my very last breath, to the end of time and back again, forever, and after death, I will always love you._

_ I—I love you, Optimus . . . I love you . . ._

"Where is the commander?"

Elita looked up from her misery hearing Prowl's voice echo in the other room. Ratchet's voice answered. Quickly, she sat up on the berth again, wiping her optics, and she had just settled herself presentably when the door whizzed open as Prowl stepped in.

He paused, sensing more than knowing something was wrong. "Commander, what are you doing?"

There was nothing better to lie with than half truths. "I was speaking with Optimus," she told him unabashedly, forcibly stopping her voice from quavering.

Prowl's icy blue optics blinked at her, assessing both her and the room in one sweep with his uncanny ability to know if there was ever anything bothering her. However, with the subtly she knew him for, he did not outright ask what the problem was. Instead, he said, "Logic dictates that we cannot wait for the Decepticons to mount another attack against us. We must attack while we have the element of surprise, for that is all we possess. Where is Optimus? It would help us greatly to have our leader in this next battle."

Elita shook her head. "Negative. Optimus is wounded, and he will not be able to accompany us."

"How hurt is he?" Prowl needled.

Her optics shuttered. "He is incapable of battle, Prowl."

"You are telling half truths, Ma'am."

"And you should not test me, Prowl."

His door wings twitched, the only indication of his unsettlement. The mech across from her blinked again, considering her tone and weighing his options and making his decision accordingly. "If it is associated with our leader, I need to know so I may better handle the situation."

She carefully and deliberately arched a brow, calmly dealing with him. "And do you not trust that his very spark mate may HANDLE the situation?"

His door wings twitched again. "Ma'am, you are keeping secrets. How wounded is he? We may need to send Ratchet."

"I said not to test me, Prowl."

After another meticulous blink, she saw his optics flick to the floor. Her optics immediately followed his line of sight, and her spark chilled seeing the tears she had left on the floor. She looked up just in time to catch his optics returning to her face. She kept her expression carefully detached, but somehow, Prowl's optics seemed to cut through her.

Finally, he inclined his body apologetically with a cant of his helm. "My apologies, Ma'am. I have overstepped my boundaries."

She swallowed freely. He knew. He knew Optimus was dying. She didn't want to burden them with the knowledge, and here she had already let it slip.

"I would appreciate it greatly if you could help assist me with preparations and strategy for our blitzkrieg against Darkmount," Prowl continued without pause. "With Optimus currently wounded and unable to battle, we do not have time to wait on his recovery. We need to strike."

After a moment with her spark in her throat, Elita nodded and managed, "Yes. Of course," and followed Prowl from the berth room. As he led her from the ship, everyone having apparently picked their weapons of choice, Elita reached forward and briefly touched his shoulder. He didn't show any indication of the touch, but they didn't need words at that point to express the message conveyed.

_Thank you._

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Heavy stone right next to mine,<em>  
><em>We'll be together 'til the end of time<em>  
><em>Don't you go before I do,<em>  
><em>I'm gonna tell the gravedigger that he better dig two<em>**

**_I told you on the day we wed_**  
><strong><em>I was gonna love you 'til I's dead"<em>**

**Better Dig Two_The Band Perry**


	52. Discretion

**Author's Note:**

**Yeah! Hit 502 reviewers! Much thanks to those who reviewed on the last chapter: **

**Foxbear, BossBot97, falconaiur, Mercedes Wolfcry, Grace, Spiritstrike, Kuurankukka, writergurl616, Lewascan2, Miko873, thePegasus-ponyPrime, Lockdownthegunner, Sounddrive, LynxbyLynx, and Fanatic97! You guys made it possible! Thank you for the support!**

**Now, enjoy this chapter and... oh... Why Chief! You keep getting more and more mysterious!**

**And if anyone can pick out which sentence of this chapter is my favorite, I'll give you the biggest baddest shout-out ever in the next chapter ;)**

* * *

><p>Something smelled fishy.<p>

The first human using their cellular device? He didn't think the kid would make the same mistake twice. The second? She would never. Twice in a row was suspicious, but Starscream deployed more troops. And an energon mine getting attacked at the same time?

Dumb. But Starscream was dumber, so Wheeljack watched arrogantly with his arms crossed as Starscream made a fool of himself scattering half the army across the continent. And, turned out, the mine was not under attack—the Autobots had used the derelict _HARBINGER_ to infiltrate their communications.

Sly, he would give them that. But foolhardy.

"Open a ground bridge to the _HARBINGER!_"

No sooner had Starscream ordered Soundwave than did a blast rock up Darkmount's base struts, rattling all the way to their height by the force of the blow. Wheeljack's gaze flattened.

Grenade.

The fresh batch of Synthen burned in his systems. It created a palpable, stinging buzz that made his trigger finger itch and the urge to slap Starscream silly nearly reality. He wanted a fight. By Primus, he lusted for a battle so badly, to test his mettle, to spill bright blue energon over the floor. It teased him; incensed him; seduced him. Finally, standing from his cocky slouch against the wall, Wheeljack gave a salute to Megatron. "Don't mind me," he drawled with a roll of his optics. "I'll be sure to mop up Scream's mess again."

Starscream began to make some sort of angry denial, but Megatron cut him off with an infuriated, "Do not flatter yourself, Starscream. I find it highly ironic that I can count on HIM to take care of the Autobots more than I can my own military commander!" He turned raging red optics into Wheeljack's which gleamed back as a mirror. "Exterminate as many as you like, Wheeljack."

He saluted. "I've got a date with half a Wrecker," he growled, and he transformed down into his alt mode, driving quickly out into the halls of the Decepticon fortress.

That was one unfortunate downfall of being a wheeled Decepticon. It was going to take him longer to get down there in the thick of it, but Wheeljack prided himself on his swift alt mode. He gunned it through the halls, whipping by Vehicons and Insecticons and to the lesser populated halls so he could drive without obstacles.

Without obstacles, at least, until a red pickup trust sat parked sideways in the middle of his way.

Without knowing why, Wheeljack slammed down on his breaks, tires squealing and he skidded to a halt in front of the intruding truck that belonged no place but here. To his utter astonishment, a thin, tan human sat comfortably in the front seat.

For a second, in the deserted hallway, Wheeljack's engine purred idle as he stared at the man and his truck and the man just stared back. Finally, he growled, "Move." He didn't know why. He could just move him himself. He could have just rammed him and not paid him any attention!

The human took a deep, lax puff of his cigar before he tipped his cowboy hat up to squint with steely brown eyes. "Wheeljack."

"I said MOVE you fleshy meat bag," Wheeljack snarled again, and he transformed abruptly up, metal clanging aggressively into place. "Or I'll tear your ride into pieces and crush you with my bare hands."

"'Fraid not, sonny," the man said, assessing him calmly with shrewd eyes. "You and I need to talk."

"You've got one more chance to get out of my way, chief."

He nodded in thought. "I see you remember my nickname."

Without warning, Wheeljack swung his leg back and kicked the side of the truck with all the force his body could put into one motion. It sailed away across the hall, flipping sideways in a stunning spiral before Wheeljack saw something he would never forget.

The transformation was unexpected, the truck doors swinging open, the bed parting and wheels grinding, morphing into a Cybertronian. The bot landed on his peds, just as tall and lanky as the old man had been, and his facial plates were an exact replica of the human's. Standing up with a huff, Wheeljack narrowed his optics as he watched the mech pick up a Cybertronian sized cigar, replacing it in his mouth distractedly.

He grunted, cracking his neck. "Haven't had to do that in a while . . ." he muttered to himself.

Wheeljack's lips thinned, patience gone already. He drew his katanas. "I'm gonna cut your little friend to ribbons when I'm finished with you," he threatened the Cybertronian.

Instead, the bot across from him just shrugged. "You can try." The cocky claim made Wheeljack's brow darken even more. "And who said we were two different souls in two different bodies?"

Wheeljack charged with an enraged roar. The rusty red bot didn't move, but rather took his charge head on. His katanas slammed into the bot, but he didn't so much as scratch him—his kick hadn't even dented him. Wheeljack came with a flurry of swift and furious attacks that had the bot staggering back because of the force of them, but he didn't take any damage whatsoever, as impenetrable as the Apex Armor.

When Wheeljack backed away for a breather, chest heaving with anger and rage, the chief grunted and crossed his arms. "Look, soldier," the Cybertronian said with the same voice of the human. "I need to talk with you before you go out there and do something you're gonna regret."

"You don't know anything about the future," Wheeljack rasped. "And you don't know slag about me!"

He surged forward again with guttural yells, and this time, instead of hitting him, he barreled straight through him, body phasing through him. By the time he had turned around, a magnetic yellow force field glowed in the bot's hand, and Wheeljack shouted when he was pushed away by polarized forces. The world flipped and he felt his peds slam into the ceiling, and he swore fluently when his peds were magnetized to the ceiling. He threw his katanas at him, but the chief didn't even pay attention to the blades that skidded harmlessly off of him.

Wheeljack growled, struggling. But he was caught fast. His hellish red optics glared into neutral white.

"Who are you? What are you!"

A smirk slowly spread across the mech's faceplates. "Oh, now that's the question that burns you up the most, is it?" he asked conversationally. He canted his helm to the side and lifted his brows. "You don't know, and that's what's bothering you. You don't know if I'm Cybertronian with a human partner. Or maybe I'm both Cybertronian and human, a bot that can turn into a human or a human that can turn into a bot." He quirked his brow up, and Wheeljack's optics flicked to the human suddenly on the bot's shoulder. "Or maybe I'm something else altogether."

"I don't care what the frag you are!" Wheeljack finally managed to snarl.

Footsteps sounded. A surprised, "Wheeljack?" And then, Knockout jolted. His servos transformed to his buzz saws immediately. "An intruder—!"

Before Knockout could so much as take a step, the chief suddenly whirled with the attack. Palm facing flat towards the medic, sound waves suddenly blasted out with a rocking intensity that popped Wheeljack's audio receptors. Knockout was lambasted directly in the front, and the medic collapsed in an unconscious heap.

The second the chief turned his back, Wheeljack drew his weapons. However, without even looking at him, the bot lifted his other hand and at the same time, shooting bright blue circular waves that froze him on the spot.

He couldn't move. Not an inch. He couldn't even speak, couldn't even growl to let that mech know to stay away from him. It was infuriating! He couldn't be bested so easily!

Instead, stuck completely immobilized and polarized to the ceiling, the chief turned his all-too-knowing gaze on the captive mech. Wheeljack tried to wiggle without any success—the disorienting sight of the mech able to use all of the Cybertronian relic powers had his circuits burning on edge. The chief pushed a sigh through his vents.

"Listen to me, soldier," he told him, pale white optics drilling into his optics. He tried to look away, but his immobilization prevented him from doing so, and Wheeljack was left to suffer beneath that stinging, cutting, unnerving gaze. "I'm trying to help you if you'll let me."

When Wheeljack failed to respond—not that he could now anyways—the chief continued puffing on his cigar as he spoke. "You're angry. And you're afraid. I see it in your optics. You don't know anything about me, you don't know what's going on with yourself with your Neurocaroxic line missing. You don't know why people are lying, but you know they are, so that puts you up a step ahead of things. But your processor and your spark are on two different paths. You hate the Autobots with all your might, yet your spark is giving you mixed signals." He quirked his brow. "Like the guilt that made you purge your tank?"

Wheeljack just glared as hard as he possibly could from his humiliating position. The chief's robotic counterpart grunted, frowning at him. "Look. I'm telling you to get all the variables on your plate. You can tell the Decepticons are lying. But what about the Autobots?" He stepped forward, moonlit white optics boring into his soul. "You might want to broaden your horizons, Wheeljack. You might just discover something more than just a little interesting."

Before Wheeljack could comprehend what just happened, the chief blew several lazy smoke rings in his face. Lubricant stung his optics, and just when the world blurred, Wheeljack felt gravity suddenly come back full force and with it, his bodily function. He crashed to the ground with a growl and flipped back to point both his ion cannons at the Cybertronian. Or the human. Whatever he was.

But he wasn't there. As abruptly as he had been there, he was gone. Wheeljack vented raggedly, infuriated and toyed with as he always was. So powerful with the Synthen, but so powerless? So welcome, but kept in the dark? So determined, but so confused?

The juxtaposition of his spark's desires grated painfully against what he knew. What he thought. It caused physical pain to flare across his neural circuits. Instead of dwelling on the strange happenstance, Wheeljack turned his way back down the halls, determined to find Twin Twist in the fighting ahead.

If he was going to get any answers, it lied locked in the Neurocaroxic spark line he didn't have. And the only way he was going to get one was to take it. He'd gut the Wrecker no matter how many times it took to get what he wanted.

* * *

><p>It was like playing a game of chicken. Very dangerous, stupid, and full of bluster. And the sad part was, she wasn't playing it with another ship, or even a chicken.<p>

The Predacon was gaining. Elita One vented tightly, steeling her will and fear and gritting through it though her senses screamed to move, to evade, to do something about the beast gaining ground. She let it get close, and it barreled forward, focused on catching her and too dumb to realize the trick she had up her sleeve. Her optics narrowed.

"Ratchet . . ."

The beast drew so close it could snap at her tailpipe. It drew so close she could see the glint of the Predacon symbol on its chest.

"Now!"

She jerked the controls hard—since they were calibrated to Ultra Magnus's heavier touch, something she didn't want to change since she fully believed he would make it—and the ship veered up and away just in time to avoid the ground bridge dead ahead. The Predacon went barreling through, and the portal closed.

One rabid Cybertronian eating dragon checked off the list. "Elita One to stealth team," she hailed Arcee and Bumblebee. "Status report."

"Having a little trouble reaching the objective," Arcee reported back immediately. Elita's lips pressed. "Security was tighter than anticipated, Ma'am."

"Keep them occupied," she told her. Coasting the ship down, Elita parked it and disembarked. Wirelessly, she set the autopilot on, and the ship began to circle Darkmount. Hefting up her gun, she narrowed her optics and ran, gauging the leap half-heartedly, and she went ahead and leaped even before she knew if she could make it or not. Shooting inward, she blasted her way into Darkmount, frying a computer and a Vehicon in the process.

She worked her element of surprise. Registering the Vehicon to her left and right, she blasted the one on the right before he could even see her, and she gunned down the one on the left before he could retaliate. Darting and skidding to catch the other that was fleeing—ah, typical Vehicon troopers—she shot that one in the back too. Elita's lip curled as she turned her sights on the power core, and a gunshot blasted her weapon right from her grasp.

Elita's spark jumped, and she whirled. "Elita One!" Megatron landed across from her, and the smaller femme turned to face him, lips slanting downward. Megatron smiled toothily at her. "What a surprise! If you were so eager to meet with me, you could have used the front door, my dear."

Her protoform prickled at his tone. "What makes you think I was eager to meet you?" she needled back, this age-old game of his tiring her. She chuckled huskily, saying saucily, "My spark mate has always been far more enticing than you."

Megatron shook his head as if it were a shame, but he arched a brow her way. "Ah, but there will always be room for you by my side, Elita."

Her trigger finger twitched. "Please, Megatron, don't waste your breath. You and I both know you would never share your meager power." You'd think, after millennia of trying, he would finally get the picture. It seemed no matter how she told him no, if she flat out told him, if she preached a message to him, if she broke any part of his body, he never took a hint. She often wondered if she was mere sport for Megatron.

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, placing a hand gracefully on his chassis. "Would you really think so little of me? You would make a fine Decepticon queen, a pretty little trinket to keep by my side for nothing more than political propaganda. Not to mention, a tasty tart."

Elita rolled her optics. "Wonderful. Now I am reduced to political propaganda. You really ought to work on your clumsy advances on me because that was not flattering in the least."

Megatron chuckled and grinned, red optics flicking up and down her lithe frame once. Predatory. Hungry. "And again you remind me of how much I like your fire. With an attitude like that, you would have made a magnificent Decepticon."

She shifted her weight, not liking where this conversation was going. "Quit stalling, Megatron," she said flatly. She drew her energon rapier in one hand, and wielded her dagger held backwards in the other. "I am not impressed nor will I ever be."

He drew in a deep vent, chassis expanding like he could taste her scent on the air. He smiled. "Why Elita," and his optics glinted as he drew his blade. "You don't rush foreplay."

He charged with a bellow, and Elita ducked beneath his blade, slashing quickly with her dagger. The tip whistled through the air when Megatron feinted lightly away and came back with a furious assault. Elita ducked and dodged, showing off her agility and grace as she danced around the room with him. They parted for the first time, and Elita kept her stance at the ready, energon rapier lifted and primed.

In the back of her mind, she knew she was no match for Megatron. Her battle style was ill-suited against his powerful, aggressive and highly trained skill. He had been fighting much longer than she had, and in conditions as gruesome as the gladiator pits. Elita knew when she was outmatched. But she also knew what she, herself, was capable of.

This battle was a stall and a gamble. If Bumblebee and Arcee could break through while Prowl and Twin Twist busied the guards, they would make it up to the power core while she combated Megatron. If not, she could take the winning shot when she could. Because regardless, she would disable the power core for the Autobots whether she lived or died. They needed Darkmount to fall to have a fighting chance. And Elita could feel Optimus's life force slipping further and further away, a constant strain on the bond until she felt like it would snap at any given moment.

They closed in again, this time riskier than the last with jabs, thrusts, deep lunges, a daring and wild dance. Elita whirled, Megatron's blade nipping at her paint as she let loose a yell a cut her rapier sharply across his upper arm. The energon powered weapon ate a slice through his armor that smoldered and curled from the heat. Infuriated, Megatron snarled and backhanded the rosy pink femme. Elita grunted and skidded across the ground, slamming into the wall before she could find her peds. Sheathing her rapier, she transformed her laser and aimed at the power core, but she faltered.

Unrest tore through her spark like a tornado. It ripped her apart from the inside, whipping up all of her turmoil, twisting it around, and scattering the broken bits for her to pick up. Optimus. She couldn't reach him. He was there, he was just beyond the realm of where she could reach. Dying.

Megatron's forearm lambasted into her, pinning both arms above her head. With a thin gasp back to the present, Elita blinked god-fearing optics up to her doom, not really seeing Megatron, but beyond him.

His fist descended on her jaw. Darkness.

* * *

><p>Slag proceeded a lot more normal as Wheeljack sped down the halls and found the fighting. No more freaky humans and their Cybertronian partners. That could obviously vanish into thin air. No, no more freaky slag for Wheeljack. Instead, his engine revved hot as he transformed up next to the Vehicons shooting down a hall at, presumably, the Autobot interlopers. They flinched instinctively when he approached.<p>

"Hold your fire," Wheeljack drawled to them. Hesitantly, they lifted their arms. He gave a careless shrug as he walked out into the line of fire. "They're not gonna shoot me."

He didn't know quite how he knew. Maybe it was because of the twins hesitating to attack him until he laid into them. Maybe it was a feeling in his gut. Maybe it was just the chief. He didn't know, but he transformed down, and he drove himself down the halls. He heard a surprised, *Wheeljack?* and then an alarmed, *Wheel—!*

Transforming up and grabbing his katana, Wheeljack took the blunt end and slammed it down square on the center of the yellow scout's head. The young mech fell like a sack of potatoes, and before the blue femme could react, Wheeljack slammed his forearm into her throat, sending her pitching to her knees and wheezing for breath.

Wheeljack grabbed them both with disinterest, hauling them to their peds. Bumblebee whirred with disorientation, peds stumbling, and Arcee fought his touch briefly until he pressed his ion cannons to the backs of their heads.

"Walk."

Vehicons immediately disarmed them. Forcing the hot barrel of his guns into the backs of their heads, the two Autobots began to walk against their will, hands held high in surrender. He had two, but they weren't the ones he wanted. They remained outside and—per Shockwave's data burst to him—also prisoner. They would keep them live prisoners until Megatron gave the order to terminate.

Well, that was SHOCKWAVE'S orders. Wheeljack wouldn't wait to terminate the Wrecker. He had his own agenda to fill, and hadn't Megatron said he could terminate as many as he liked?

Arcee looked back over her shoulder, worry and fear lacing her optics. "Wheeljack—"

He jabbed the barrel of his cannon forward and into her jaw, instantly splitting a lip plate as she grunted and faced forward again. He heard her growl shortly with anger, but she didn't face him to speak to him again. "What are you doing, Wheeljack?"

"Resisting the urge to blast the back of your helm through your face," he replied darkly candidly. "So I suggest you don't try my patience."

"No, I mean why are you with the Decepticons?" she snapped back shortly. "You're an Autobot!"

He hit her in the back of the head again with warning. "Shut up, femme. I don't associate with your kind."

"What happened to you? What's wrong with you?"

He jabbed her in the back again, making her stagger and cry out at the force of the blow. "There's NOTHING wrong with me!" he bellowed into the hallway. His spark sputtered erratically when he saw her dip her mouth towards her shoulder in the effort to nurse her split lip, and he had to resist the strange urge to do it for her. "You pathetic Autobots need to get it through your processors, I've always been a Decepticon, there is nothing wrong with me, and nothing is going to change my allegiance!"

*But she's right!* Bumblebee suddenly chirped up. *You've always been an Autobot! Why do you think you're a Decepticon? I don't understand!*

He pressed his ion cannons into the backs of their helms again, and he let them whir hot and loud with promising threat. "Well, I'm sure you can understand that if you don't slag off and shut up, I'll happily put a hole in your processor. Because if you two say one more Primus-damned thing, I'll make good on Megatron's generosity to kill as many of you as I like."

It shut them up quick, but it didn't shut up his spark and processor. It was like a constant tug-of-war, the crash of waves chipping away at a rocky shore as his mind wanted to pull the trigger and his spark wanted to . . . He didn't even want to dwell on what his spark wanted to do. It scared him. It was AFFECTIONATE. Attached. Soft. And he hated it. By Primus, he hated it so much he was willing to rip the wires right out of his own chassis.

Wheeljack pushed them roughly along the halls of Darkmount, a feeling of respect bleaching stark against the lust for splattered blue energon every time he looked at the happy-go-lucky scout he despised. Arcee was something else altogether. Joy and relief and blinding infatuation juxtaposed against blinding hate, bitterness, and betrayal. It felt like his processor was trying to tear itself in half. It seemed like everything he stood for as a Decepticon had been corrupted by a fine line between love and hate, twisted beyond recognition and all he had to stand for it was his word.

However, he shoved aside all his insecurities as he forced the Autobot prisoners outside. His gaze settled on Shockwave towering over two mechs, and his red optics pinned to the Wrecker.

They almost couldn't get to the small group quick enough for Wheeljack's tastes. With an angry growl, he shoved Arcee and Bumblebee off to the Vehicons and he grabbed Twin Twist before the others could stop him. Hoisting the mech to the side, apart from the others, Wheeljack kicked the back of his knees in and forced the mech to the ground. A hand clamped down on his arm, five tapered digits squeezing hard.

"Wheeljack." Immediately, he felt a chill through his system at the sound of that voice. "Hold your fire. We have not yet received orders to terminate the prisoners."

He didn't fight the urge to throw off his hand. Wheeljack shrugged away almost violently, both terrified and furious at Shockwave for no apparent reason. He couldn't fathom the reason he was petrified, and it only made him angrier than he already was. He had worked by this mech countless times before! What was there to change things now?

"Don't touch me," Wheeljack hissed defensively. He glared piercing optics back at that one that blinked so soullessly. "You were there when Megatron gave me his sanction. I can kill all of these wretches and get away with it, and you know it!"

"There is value in prisoners," Shockwave stated flatly.

He bared his denta. "I don't give a frag if you want them for your operating tables. I want their energon carpeted on this ground, and I'll spill every last drop, starting with him!" He gestured furiously to Twin Twist kneeling on the ground.

Prowl lifted his helm, frowning severely from beneath his red chevron at the irate mech. "Wheeljack, hold your fire. You are not thinking clearly."

He backhanded the mech so quickly he nearly twisted an axel. "You're next," he sneered. Fiery red glazed into icy blue. "Just because I don't like ya."

Wheeljack whirled back to Twin Twist, leveling his cannon at him, shaking with agitation when Arcee cried out, "Wheeljack, STOP!"

He gave a harsh, barking laugh. He glared brittle crimson optics into the trembling femme. "You just earned yourself execution three," he snapped. He grinned mockingly at Bumblebee who just stared in complete horror. "Congratulations, half pint! You're the lucky last one! You'll get to see your friends bleed out before I put you out of your misery!"

Arcee pleaded to him again, but Wheeljack ignored her, turning back to the Wrecker who was silent at his peds. He leveled his weapon, intending on blasting a hole the size of ego through his helm when he heard his voice.

"If you're gonna kill me, at least have the good decency to look me in my optics."

Wheeljack pressed the hot barrel of his gun to the back of his helm. "I don't have any decency."

"Scared?"

He flawlessly pricked his pride. Wheeljack struck him again, manhandling him around into position. He pressed his weapon into his forehead, and Twin Twist looked up at him.

It took every ounce of his will to coerce himself to look into those optics without wavering. The deadened look killed him. It absolutely tore him apart. He felt the seams of his volatile spark coming undone as the guilt raised its ugly head, a Hydra of sin and suffering. His cannon was charged, primed, hot. It was ready. His processor screamed at him to take the shot. Kill him. Take his Neurocaroxic line. He needed it. It was the answer to his problems, the answers to everything, what would set things straight when he could remember things for how they were without the spider web of lies to sort through.

His arm began to shake. He glared with as much contempt as he could at the Wrecker whose optics seemed to mock him. They were so empty and hollow Wheeljack was sure the screams of his brother would echo out of their depths. When he failed to shoot, he heard his almost inaudible whisper.

"Look. Look at what you've done to me."

Wheeljack's check twitched. He forcibly held back a stricken look, but his optics flared brighter, a naked panic rising in him as that emotion threatened to drag him under again. Despair sharpened to a deadly edge by sickening remorse.

He had done this. He had killed him. Made him a living corpse. A shell of what he once was.

*Look! Up there!*

Instinctively, Wheeljack's helm jerked up. There. In the distance. Something was coming. No, someone. A closer look revealed a color scheme he knew. Optimus Prime, no matter how much bigger or how he flew.

Wildly, Wheeljack looked over his shoulder. Everyone had their helms craned up except Arcee. She was looking at him. Her gaze was raw with passion, and he could see her lip trembling from where she stood, hands above her head.

What was he supposed to do? Nothing made sense, it was all jumbled up, warped and distorted beyond what he could see. It was like trying to see through a fog with his headlights glaring back through the mist. Blinding. Deceptive.

_I need to talk with you before you go out there and do something you're gonna regret. _What did words like that mean? What did that fragging human mean? He hadn't made any sense! If he had been there to help him, he would have told him what was going on, not add more riddles to an already impossible puzzle!

Her love-sick look made him uncomfortable. He looked back down to Twin Twist, but the Wrecker still hadn't attacked despite Wheeljack's laps of attention. Despite him killing his brother. His gaze unnerved him too. Wheeljack looked down, spark sputtering rapidly as he quickly tried to think things through in this tiny window, but it wasn't enough time to consider anything. It was either he act, or he missed it. Whatever it was.

His optics caught sight of the purple Decepticon symbol stark against his chassis. Crisp. Freshly welded with a touch-up.

_ You might just discover something more than just a little interesting._

All the variables . . . Wheeljack's lips flattened.

_Fine. Only one way to find out._


	53. Culmination

**Author's Note:**

**The second half of the last chapter I chopped in half because it was HUGE...**

**And prolific reviewing! :D Yay! Seriously, I fragging love it when you guys review so much like that! And big shoutouts to Lewascan2 because you really were cute when you were excited about being mentioned in the author's note! ^-^ And big shoutout to Ratchet171 as my newest reviewer/follower and glad you're enjoying it! Hopefully, I can keep the originality coming!**

**Much love to my reviewers:**

**Foxbear, Lewascan2, SilenceSpeaksWhenWordsCan't, Kuurankukka, BossBot97, thePegasus-ponyPrime, Grace, Sounddrive, Mercedes Wolfcry, Ratchet171, megaghostgirl101, Lockdownthegunner, Zypherion-DeathNova, Spiritstrike, Fanatic97, and Lynxbylynx! (some of you guys have hard to spell names, how do you do that? *is shot* Guess I can't talk much, I have Whozawhatcha XD )**

**Now, enjoy this, and watch out for some bad-touching by Elita and Optimus! :) The song, "The Other Side" by Jason Derulo managed to inspire them, surprisingly, and boy, they were a bit flirty!**

**HOLY CRAP. Forgot to say, my favorite line of the last chapter? The line about Twin Twist's optics: "They were so empty and hollow Wheeljack was sure the screams of his brother would echo out of their depths."**

* * *

><p>"I will not ask again! Where is Optimus Prime?"<p>

The sharp kick to her gut made her gag on backed up energon. Still, despite Megatron's potent anger, a coy smile turned up the edge of her lips.

"I don't know," she replied truthfully. "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

His clawed hand reached down and grabbed her by her neck. Her jaw ground tightly when her peds lifted off the ground and Megatron hoisted her high, glaring with the fires of rage burning in his red optics.

"Your spark mate!" he bellowed at her. "I know you are connected to him, now WHERE IS HE? Tell him that if he does not comply to my demands, I will gladly rip his mate's spark out!"

_Now he's threatening to kill me. Cute. Where are you?_

_ Coming, my dear. Stall him for a little bit longer. I'm less than a minute out._

The corner of Elita's lips twitched into a small, smug smirk. "Come now, Megatron," she managed around the vice clamping her throat. Competent blue optics glimmered with laughter at him. "Do you honestly think that even if he told me where he was, I would tell you? I know very well once I give you that information you'll just kill me and then Optimus. I am no one's fool."

He snarled and threw her down. Elita grunted, falling on her hands and knees. "Very well!" he spat. "Execute our prisoners, and fire each cannon at the nearest metropolis within its sights! It is time to show the known universe that this planet belongs to Megatron—"

"Master," Starscream said abruptly. "Something's coming."

_I see you._

Elita lifted her helm, panting slightly in pain as she squinted into the distance. Faintly, she could see something coming, silhouetted against the sunset.

_Are you flying?_

_ Yes._

At the smug tone that crept its way into his voice, Elita had to bite back a grin.

_Don't get cocky._

_ Me? Why I would never! I thought you knew me better, Elita._

Her spark softened at his teasing. Megatron and Starscream stepped in front of her, blocking her view. "The Predacon?" Megatron asked.

Starscream made an unconvinced noise in his throat. "Hmm . . . Not beasty enough . . ."

Elita laughed to herself. _They're trying to figure out what you are._

A deep chuckle rumbled its way into her spark, warming her from the inside out. _Megatron is going to be in for quite the unpleasant surprise._

Starscream squinted. "I know that color scheme . . ."

_Oh my. I told him not to hit me._

_ He hit on you again too, didn't he?_

_ It was his classic charade. I told him not to do that also._

_ He should have listened._

"Wait! He can't fly! Can he?"

_Gorge your optics on this, sweet spark._

Elita looked up, and her optics widened when Optimus came flying in and landed, punching Megatron in the jaw so hard the warlord staggered backwards. Her brows shot upwards. Taken aback at how large Optimus was, her optics flicked up and down him once as he turn around, backhanding him and giving him an uppercut.

"Oh my . . ."

He reeled his arm back and socked Megatron square in the chassis with all his might. The warlord flew like a pixie across the way before he crashed into and broke his throne.

Her hand came to rest on her chassis at the casual and impressive display of power. The imposing new form of her spark mate whipped a Gatlin gun out, and her brows rose again as he easily decimated the three Vehicons.

Her optics glanced to see the lone standing seeker backing away as quietly as he could. Elita stood, cracking her knuckles. This would be fun.

"Hey, Starscream!"

He whirled around, and Elita cocked her wrist and gave him her best right hook. The Decepticon air commander fell in an unconscious heap, and the optics of both spark mates met. Both equally impressed with the fortitude and physical powers of the other, simultaneously they breathed,

"I love you."

Elita's lips twisted up saucily, and she took precious time to draw her optics down his form much more muscular than before, filled out and so mechly she felt it from where she stood. Compared to when she came up to his chassis, now she only came up to just below his chassis, unable to use his chest windows for a mirror. Against her will—or, maybe not against it—her processor sank into the curvy dip of his luscious waist, and she caught herself wondering briefly if everything was upgraded, enhanced, and more robust, did that count for EVERYTHING?

"Elita," she finally heard him say, "I don't think now is the time."

Huffing a little, she smiled wryly. "I suppose you're right when the fusion cannons below need disabled."

He took a step forward, saying, "Understood," while he gently, almost cheekily, chucked her chin.

Watching him take off again, Elita's spark soared. Over the Autobot comm. link, she reported to the others, "All units, Optimus Prime has returned. I repeat, Prime is alive and quiet well!"

* * *

><p>He didn't know why the hell he did what he did.<p>

Then again, he didn't know much of anything anymore.

He looked at Prowl's bumper. He was sandwiched between Smokescreen and Bumblebee, with Twin Twist's drills caging him in from the rear. A prisoner in all but name. Not that he couldn't get out of here easily enough. He had LET them take him—or so they thought. He was willingly going where he wanted to go.

Those were the thoughts that occupied Wheeljack's processor. He also raged to himself that they were showing him some gratitude for helping save their sorry afts. He even had the shoulder wound to prove it, and it was leaking a little. More charred by the strength of Shockwave's gun than bleeding. But it was painful nonetheless. He had double teamed Shockwave with the Wrecker, therefore branding him a Decepticon traitor in less than a klik. And now, he was being escorted right into the lair of his enemy.

Wheeljack silently seethed. He already regretted this. He shouldn't have gone with them. He should have killed them all when had the chance. The fresh dose of Synthen burned in his systems, humming with restless energy and the urge for violence. It took all of Wheeljack's self-control not to attack in a blind rage at the Autobots.

They led him to a human military base. Wheeljack could tell by its layout, and they led him to one of the center buildings, labeled E. Once inside, Prowl transformed and turned towards Wheeljack. Taking that as his cue, Wheeljack transformed in the silent Autobot silo. The humans turned to look at him. Optimus Prime and Elita and Ratchet all turned to him, and he duly noted the commander Ultra Magnus resting in a Cybernetic life support system.

Prowl spoke first before anyone else. "Servos out."

Wheeljack stiffened immediately at the stasis cuffs in his hands. His shoulders hinged up despite his left shoulder screaming in agony because of the laser fire on his back. "Go to the Pit," he snarled, fingers curling. "You can keep those things away from me."

"You are an Autobot turncoat and now a Decepticon turncoat," Prowl stated flatly, icy blue optics daring him to challenge his authority. "Protocol dictates—"

"I don't give about your damn protocol, dipstick! You come near me with those things and I will MAIM you."

"Easy, Wheeljack," Optimus's deep voice rumbled out, and contrary to how the sound should have soothed him, it only made him even more wound up. If that mech had been his normal size he wouldn't have been so worried, but when the freaking Hulk walked in the room? He jerked and backed away again, trigger finger twitching.

"Come near me with those cuffs," Wheeljack snarled. "I dare you."

Trying to dispel the situation getting rapidly out of hand, Twin Twist stepped forward, putting his hand in front of Prowl. "I'm sorry, sir," he apologized on Wheeljack's behalf. "Wheeljack isn't thinking right, and it's effecting his—"

"My processor is just fine!" he snapped defensively, moving away so he wasn't locked in on all sides by the Autobots. "Lay one hand on me and I'll spill your viscera all over the floor, got it?"

Prowl moved Twin Twist's hand out of his way and stepped forward. "He is persisting in his threats for violence. He must be restrained."

"No, Prowl," Optimus said. He stepped closer, sending Wheeljack's defensive mechanisms fritzing haywire at the large mech's proximity. "No matter what has happened to him, he is still one of us."

"Let's get this straight," Wheeljack growled angrily. "I'm NOT one of you!"

Bumblebee twittered nervously, backing away. *You guys, give him some space. You're cornering him*

"I'm not cornered, you measly bug!" Wheeljack's red optics glared out at them all, his Decepticon logo like a beacon for trouble. "You didn't bring me here, I came out of my own free will, and I'll walk out whenever I slaggin' well please!"

"Well clearly you don't want to be here," Twin Twist said sharply. His olfactory system flared with a deep, controlling breath. "So get out of here."

Wheeljack's winglets perked up, and his metal hinged up like a clock wound to snap. "You're asking for it," he hissed to the Wrecker. It would be so easy. He was barely a lunge away. He could snap his neck before anyone could do anything. Not that it would help—the whole point was to get his Neurocaroxic line. If he killed him now, the Autobots would restrain him.

"Then give it to me," Twin Twist needled back, deadened eyes challenging him with the slightest flare of anger.

"Come and GET it," Wheeljack nearly purred, voice laced with threatening ire.

Prowl made the mistake of taking another step forward. "Wheeljack, you need to—"

His careful control snapped. Wheeljack lunged, hands wrapping around Prowl's neck. The gun smoke grey mech reacted in kind, hands grabbing Wheeljack's wrists and knee jabbing upward into his pelvis. Wheeljack grunted, slinging the mech away and to the ground as he was pounced from behind by Twin Twist.

Roaring in anger, the Synthen fed his unbridled aggression. Wheeljack kicked his legs up in the air and swung all his momentum downward. Twin Twist was brought hurling over his shoulder, and the mech landed hard on his back, all the breath gushing out of his body. Before Wheeljack could attack Prowl again who had already leapt to his peds, a giant hand descended towards him.

Instinct took over, and Wheeljack ducked away from the Prime's massive hand and socked the mech right in the gut. He grunted, but his servo was swift and grabbed Wheeljack's shoulder. For a moment, panic and rage nearly overtook Wheeljack before the Prime merely slung him away, blocking his way to Twin Twist and Prowl with his body and the sharp order of, "Stand down, all of you!"

Wheeljack had his ion cannons transformed and whirring hot so fast he didn't even realize he had done it. "Frag off!" he shouted back, moving away. "I'm my own mech! You keep your hands and your orders to yourself; you don't own me!"

Finally, having enough with the antics before her, Elita rolled her optics with the word, "Mechs," barely uttered under her breath. "Allow me," she said, brushing her way airily to the front.

Optimus turned his helm down to her. "Elita—"

She silenced him with a touch to his hip as she passed in front to face Wheeljack. He shifted immediately, pointing his cannon at the closest in proximity which happened to be the Prime's spark mate. She smiled at him, a warm, comforting smile.

"Get one step closer and I'll blow that smile right off your face."

His threat didn't make her smile falter. "Please, calm down, Wheeljack. We mean you no harm."

"That's not what I've seen around here," he snarled back, wounded shoulder shaking as he struggled to keep his other gun pointed to ward off the others.

"Yes, I'm sorry, I apologize for the needless brutality they showed you," she said sweetly. Her friendliness made him want to gag. "However, you aren't making this easy for us with your weapons pointed our way."

"Well, until you put your dog on a leash," and he glared hard past her shoulder and to Prowl.

Her ornate helm nodded. "It's all right. You are welcome here, and stasis cuffs will not be required."

"Commander—"

"Prowl, not now." His lips pressed mulishly, and Elita smiled again at Wheeljack. "Now, you're wounded. If you put away your weapons, I'm sure Ratchet would—"

"I don't want that snake anywhere near me!" Wheeljack hissed almost violently. He jerked back another step at the mere thought of the mad doctor, shaking and optics flaring brighter in alarm at even letting the medic touch him again.

"Fine," she acquiesced easily. Wheeljack tried to temper his shuddering vents. "Will you allow me to patch you?"

His lip curled. "Not a chance."

She arched a patient brow. "The wound is on the back of your shoulder, a very hard place to tend to on your own. I won't harm you, Wheeljack, I just want to help."

The aggressive edge didn't want to leave him. He was even more suspicious of the Autobots than he was of the Decepticons. Voice grating with distrust, he growled, "I'm not letting my guard down with all these idiots in here."

Elita nodded. "We can thin the room."

He jerked his cannon towards Ratchet with an almost epileptic, scared movement. "The Doc of Doom has to go," he snarled. He shifted uncomfortably under Twin Twist's gaze. "Soulless optics there too. He goes. And the glitch," and he gestured to Arcee. "So does tight-aft, half-pint and the Hulk."

Elita nodded even though that left only her and Smokescreen in the room. She turned her helm. "You heard him," she said. "Everyone, file out."

Prowl stood stock still, door wings twitching with an ugly rage splotching beneath his complexion at what she was suggesting. Bumblebee was the first to slink quietly out of the silo, followed by Arcee and Twin Twist. Ratchet hesitated a little more before he transformed down and left. Prowl stood stubbornly, nearly unable to think as if his logic circuits had shut down, but a sharp lifting brow from Elita finally propelled him into motion. Optimus didn't move a piston.

"I am afraid the 'Hulk' will have to remain," Optimus quoted him coyly. "I do not trust leaving you alone with my spark mate and only one soldier while you are in such a hostile state."

When Wheeljack bared his denta, Elita could only give one unladylike shrug. "I'm afraid I hold no jurisdiction over him in that regard," she told him. She didn't wait for his response, but automatically walked across the room, found Ratchet's medical supplies, and came to stand back in front of him. He stared at her apparent disregard for his weapons trained on her as she asked simply, "May I?"

He stared her down, left arm seizing with the effort to keep his ion cannons trained on her. He didn't trust her. He didn't know why. Maybe it was just because she was an Autobot. But for once, he was experiencing a small lull of emotion, a void if you will. He didn't have any preconceived judgments or emotions about her. She was safe. Unlike the others, he didn't previously know her, and so there was no programming clashing in his processor save for the fact that she was an Autobot and he was supposed to kill Autobots.

Finally, he disarmed his weapons though he was on edge for any dishonesty. Surprisingly, none was forthcoming. Elita repaired him swiftly and well enough, so he couldn't complain.

"Um . . . Wheeljack?"

He turned at the sound of his name, and his optics alighted on a female human dressed horrendously on the gangway. He scowled. "Does every Primus-forsaken one of you know my name?"

She winced back slightly. Hopeful caramel eyes looked up almost pleadingly. "Do you remember me?"

"Remember you?" He scoffed. "I've never even met you."

His cruel tone invoked her anger. Heat flushed to her cheeks, and hurt tears beaded in her eyes. "Yes you do!" she snapped back. "MIKO!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Miko Nakadai! Your human partner! Skinny Asian girl estranged from her father; I like monster truck rallies, zombies, speed metal, graffiti, barbeque, bikers, and I want to be a famous rock star! You've looked after me for months! I'm connected to you in your spark—you said I'm your daughter! You said you love me!"

"Ha! Me, fall in love?" He leaned down, sneering in her face, "If I ever did that, I think I'd have a spark attack."

A stricken look crossed her features. Then, before she cried, she blinked rapidly and turned away, walking off and away to control her temper. Wheeljack's lip curled as he watched her go. That was right. Get away from him. But his spark hurt just seeing the slump of her shoulders. He ignored it, turning glittering red optics on Optimus.

"So? What're you gonna do with me?"

There was a palpable beat of silence in which Optimus considered his options—with a few add-ins from Elita via their spark bond—before he finally responded, "Nothing."

He narrowed his optics to slitting crimson lines. "Nothing?"

Optimus nodded. "Absolutely nothing."

"That doesn't seem like your brightest idea. You know the damage I can do. The damage I've done. I highly doubt that half-Wrecker in there will agree with a decision like that."

Optimus vented slowly, looking down at Wheeljack. His winglets perked up again, feeling intimidated by his height and breadth. "Wheeljack, you believe yourself an avid Decepticon," Optimus said slowly. "Yet you come here on your own jurisdiction. Whether that is for a vendetta or something more, I do not know. But you betrayed the Decepticons on a whim and came back with us, though tense, not violent until we pushed you out of your boundaries of comfort." He paused. "So no. You are not our prisoner, you are a Decepticon granted asylum until he learns where his spark is leading him. I will notify Prowl of my decision."

Wheeljack's fingers flared and clenched. "That's it?"

The Prime nodded again, but arched an eyebrow. "I trust you will temper your aggressive tendencies or else Prowl will have the perfect excuse to put you in the brig."

Wheeljack snorted, crossing his arms. "He'd put me in the brig for even breathing, Prime. If he doesn't piss me off, we'll be doing good."

* * *

><p>The base was quiet. The day had been long, and everyone was bushed. The bots had retired to recharge—even Prowl, surprisingly. The kids were passed out on the couch in various positions: Jack sprawled in the couch corner, one leg stretched out and arms spread on the arm and the back; Raf face flat on the love seat; Miko sharing the couch with Jack, curled up in a defensive, hurt ball with her face hidden by the pillows.<p>

Elita gathered much from their different positions. Raf easily slept where he could, how he could, and in whatever position despite how uncomfortable. The young boy would wake up with a crick in his neck. His glasses were far enough away not to get crushed if he rolled over, but within easy reach.

Jack sprawled. He enjoyed his space, and as an only child, never had to share his space with anyone. Though he kept to himself carefully when awake, the flail of limbs in his sleep said he had a hidden wild side as well as confidence.

Miko's tight ball didn't say anything about her personality. Thinking of herself when she was younger, Elita could only see a non-conformist when she saw one. Her choice of clothing was not usual, and neither was her hair style and color. And her treatment of authority was questionable. She doubted the girl slept like that normally. She faced inward to hide her face in the pillows. To hide her tears. She curled up in a ball to comfort herself over how inconsiderate Wheeljack had been of her emotions, as well as the general situation. His memory loss—or corruption; Topspin's death; Twin Twist relying on her to keep him going. It wasn't an easy feat to hold someone else up when you wanted nothing more than to break down yourself.

Speaking of Twin Twist, he was locked tight in his alt mode as he recharged. A clear indicator for everyone to keep away from him and leave him alone to his misery. Yet, unlike the other bots, he didn't go to his designated recharge chamber, but rather sat parked right beneath the gangway the children slept on. Close to Miko.

Elita vented softly with compassion for them. Her optics grazed the tops of the humans' heads. Could it hurt to pet them? She just wanted to feel what they felt like, so soft and organic. Hesitantly, she reached out a finger towards Jack and dipped the tip of her finger into his hair. It was lush. Thick. It moved in waves around her touch, and she stroked through it once. He didn't stir. Curious about their skin, she brushed his cheek. He was soft. Malleable. She could almost feel the energon flowing through his veins without a protective shell.

He shifted in his sleep. Her hand jumped away, and a small smile softened her face plates when he merely shifted positions slightly. Turning, she looked across the room. Ratchet worked diligently with Ultra Magnus, monitoring his vitals and muttering quietly to himself as he sought the quickest way for his healing. Various wounds decorated the commander, but it was his spark the medic seemed most worried about. He hadn't been able to say why, he hadn't found the problem, but obviously it was enough to keep him up at night.

Elita didn't worry too much. She held the utmost confidence in the aged CMO whose wisdom far surpassed any medic of the past and present. She wondered if he would ever take a protégé.

At last, her optics fell upon Optimus. Her spark swelled at the mere sight of him. It had been too long. And she had finally found him again. Still, for all that was worth, they hadn't had much time for each other yet. Not with the imminent threat of Darkmount finally being taken care of and sending the Decepticons back on a costly retreat. Not with Wheeljack suddenly deciding he wanted to check out the Autobots again. Prowl had kept them all through the afternoon and evening fighting about that. He didn't like the idea of just letting him roam the premises freely, and for good reason, but Optimus held faith in the mech no matter why he thought they were enemies.

Elita held no preconceived notions about Wheeljack. She had never met him before. But, she did trust her spark mate. And after that? When she finally thought she and Optimus would have a moment to themselves?

He took to paperwork.

Granted, the "paper" work was on a datapad. He had diligently helped Ratchet in acclimating to the new base, documenting resources and helping set up what little technology Ratchet had left to work with, battle logs, you name it, he was doing it. He was doing all of the in keeping while Ratchet puzzled over Ultra Magnus's condition.

She was about tired of it. This needed to change, and now. There was plenty of time for work later, but right now?

It was about slagging time they reunited.

Elita sauntered over, swag in her hip even though Optimus didn't see it since he was tapping on his datapad. Coming up behind him, Elita wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her lips against his back. He jumped for a moment, unaccustomed to the touch after so many years of her not being there, but then relaxed instantly with a deep rumble.

"Elita."

There was much more in that one breath of her name than just confirmation of who was touching him. She heard the joy, the underlying relief, contentment, and whimsicality. She laughed huskily, nuzzling his back.

"Optimus."

A faint laugh caught in the back of his throat, and he finally set the datapad down like a good mate and turned around to face her. Elita rested her arms around his waist comfortably, and his own arms came around her. His optics flicked around the room instinctively for confirmation of privacy before he let down his commander guise for her with an eyebrow raising.

"If I'm not mistaken, you've gotten a little shorter, Elita."

She rolled her optics. "Oh, ha ha, you're such a riot, Optimus," she said back, but the grin tugging her lips gave her away.

"What can I say?" he murmured back. One of his fingers came up to stroke the antenna on her ornate helm, and a shiver immediately trembled through her frame. "I'm very happy to have you back."

"Mh," she said diffidently. "Well, I've got to ask, Optimus."

"Ask what?"

She flicked her optics up to his with a sultry pout of her lower lip. "It seems like your upgrades have enlarged, enhanced, and super charged your body. Does that extend to EVERY part of your body?"

He stilled at the very suggestive words before his fingers feathered around her waist. A deep purr caught in his vocalizer.

"Perhaps we should find out."

Her peds left the ground as he suddenly scooped her up bridal style, and a pleased giggle slipped from her lips a little too loudly. Ratchet's optics finally flicked up to them, but seeing Optimus carrying her away, he simply muttered, "Bout slaggin' time . . ." before returning his attentions to Ultra Magnus.

Optimus carried her only as far as beyond the doorjamb before he took off with his jetpack, flying through the sky. Elita squeaked momentarily before cuddling up in his arms, appreciating the view.

"So where are you kidnapping me to?" she asked conversationally, hooking one arm around his neck and letting the other trace illicit shapes in his chassis.

A hungry grumble rattled his chassis. "Away from here," he growled. He bunched her up closer, nibbling briefly on her antenna again before admitting, "North. Nevada isn't the prettiest of states to romanticize you with, but northern Nevada is certainly a step up from these craggy rocks."

She hummed an indifferent sound, and she leaned up, nuzzling into his throat, kissing and nipping at the neck cables exposed there. She felt his grip tighten as he struggled to keep his processor on the flying. "Oh really?" she asked halfheartedly. She was much more interested in exploring this new body of his. Pit, not even that, she just wanted him, and wanted him now. There was plenty of time for plenty of rounds to map the new contours of his body under her fingertips. "Maybe I don't want romanticized."

Optimus's processor wanted to fritz a little at the saucy tone suggesting him to take her now. She sure did know exactly how to get him wound up. He was starting to feel stifled in his armor, especially with her mouth teasing his neck wires like that. It made it damn hard to fly. "Elita, if you keep that up, we may very well crash before we get far," he admitted on a rumble. The mountains whizzed beneath them. Isolated enough. Tempting despite not being up to snuff. The only problem might be a nasty case of echo.

"Then land," she whispered breathily in his audios. A shudder ran through his frame. "I want you right now, Optimus, and I don't care where we're at."

She tripped the fine wire of his control. She heard him growl shortly, and their flight patter tipped sharply as he angled down for the cover of the first valley nearby. Never mind that their cries would echo horribly. Maybe they wanted the world to seethe with jealousy.

The instant he landed, Elita felt herself pressed against the rock face and his mouth plunged down on hers. With a gasp, she returned his ravaging kiss with her own passion that held the edge of desperation and need of millennia apart. Heat scorched her circuits from the delicious and large frame that pinned her with no hesitation, taking her as his own again, and she submitted again, relishing in his touch, his kiss, his love.

He rolled his shoulders, and the jetpack disengaged immediately with a loud crash on the ground. Elita rolled her hips into his, arching into him as she attacked his armor. She would have usually drawn out the task, but she lacked the patience and the saucy bite she usually held. She just needed him. Now. She wanted him to fill her entire being, inside and out, and make up for the millennia of celibate faithfulness.

Amidst hungry kisses, the armor was thrown off. It was cast aside in different directions, strewn in an unorganized mess at their peds. White and purple-hued silver protoform molded into each other, and a haggard groan caught in Optimus's throat; his fingers tightened on her. Her legs locked around the seductive dip of his waist, and she felt the fires of passion spread like wildfire through her circuits when he ground his hips into hers and cupped her breast. She returned the gesture by sliding her palms up his sensitive audio fins, and she felt his engine rumble and vibrate through her body.

His mouth parted from hers to snatch a breath and purr, almost growl, _"Elita—"_ before his lips pressed down hard again. She whimpered and arched against him, tilting her helm back as he trailed a hot trail of kisses down her neck. She didn't question his kink for wall sex—it had become her kink since the first time he had done it like this.

He owned her body and soul. She ruled his spark and processor. The relationship gave and took, waxed and waned, yin for yang. He teased spots long dormant into electrical life, a storm of sparks that made the aching need for his touch consume her processor. Millennia of practice yielded its results between the spark mates as they stroked that spot that would make her mewl, nipped in the places that would make him moan, and aroused them with familiar touches. Her hips twisted, rolled, and pushed against him, bedeviling him until he finally drew into her with a haggard cry of ecstasy.

Simultaneously, their chassis opened, exposing one another's sparks to each other. The electrical energies entwined, curling and lacing through each other, stealing one another's consciousness into the other. They molded, fire and flame, fervor and frenzy, a lust for one another that blazed into existence and was enhanced by the intimate knowing of each other's souls. They rocked into a hard, supernova overload, and their sparks reacted in kind, sparks flying and pulling them closer until the lines between them blurred until they were one.

They panted against one another, calming after the initial madness for each other, and their sparks swirled against each other. A private conversation passed between them. Elita fell into helpless giggles; Optimus gave a deep, sexy chuckle as he nuzzled her helm. Wordless, more was passed between them than words could have told, indulging in one another like a guilty pleasure. Their sparks hummed together, connected and intimate, love bubbling up like a happy creek in the spring.

Though they cuddled and communicated, it didn't take long for the heat to return. A brief touch here—a gentle kiss there. And then a hot kiss on the mouth, overcome with razor-edged passion that made Elita melt into Optimus's frame. Their hands roamed over each other again, this time taking great care to show their devotion and ardor. They stroked; they necked; they teased. With the skill of a couple that knew each other's ins and outs, hot spots and the things they liked, they slowly worked each other up.

He moaned, soft deep and needy in her audio. Accompanied with his cherishing touches came the whimsical nothings and promises detailing his love for her. Elita returned them in kind, whimpering and panting with raw need, hands clutching at his chassis. She held on to him as her focal point in a swirling world. Their sparks reacted almost violently against each other, the charges prickling across their bodies and extremities tingling. Her spark's energies squirmed and writhed against Optimus's, and she cried out, desperate for the culmination he tantalized her with.

Love poured through her entire being. He encased her in it, warming her from the inside out with how much he treasured her, showing her through his gentle touches, feather-like touches, and drawing out her pleasure until she begged. Again he proved why she could fall for him and only him, that compassion that consumed her so readily and that soft kiss of ardor that made her lust so much for him. The heat seared more potent than the sun, and his love embraced her with unparalleled devotion.

His patient pelvic dance continued, slow, gentle, and agonizing with its pace. Elita threw her helm back, arching hard with every slow thrust that meticulously drew out every last bit of salacity out of her. The need pulsated from her spark, begging and raw until he finally accommodated her. Overload struck like a falling star, burning, scorching, impacting so intense that she screamed his name to the heavens until she was sure Megatron would seethe in jealousy on the _NEMESIS_.

They went for a third round, just for the delicious taste of each other's bodies.


	54. Love Lockdown

**Author's Note:**

**Yay! Super long chapter! :D**

**Much love to the newest ones to jump on the OHOS train! Transformersfan101, bluejayblues0895, TheIrishPixie, and GINGER216! :)**

**Also oodles of love to my reviewers! GINGER216, Transformersfan01, Xireana Zetsubou, Kuurankukka, Sounddrive, Grace, Mercedes Wolfcry, Lewascan2, Zypherion-DeathNova, Spiritstrike, ZabuzasGirl, ZeDancingHobbit (btw, love your name!) LynxbyLynx, and Fanatic97!**

* * *

><p>"Commander. Commander. Prime, pick up. I know you can hear me."<p>

He tried to ignore it. He really did.

"Optimus Prime. I will not stop contacting you until you pick up."

Did he really have to do that? He could just block his number, but his processor would still pick up him trying to contact him, like an annoying buzz in the back of his mind.

"Prime. Please respond. I know you are there. Commander. Commander."

With a long-suffering groan, Optimus finally gave in. Lifting his hand from tracing illicit shapes in the white protoform of Elita's back, he wearily touched his audio. "Prowl . . ."

"Yes, Prime?"

His optics dropped to where Elita was idly pressing affectionate kisses to his chest. He trailed his fingers up the curve of her back, relishing in the sight of her protoform glowing in the sun peeking over the horizon.

"Prowl . . . It's far too early for this."

Elita's lips pulled into a wide smile at his words. Her hands slid upwards, and Optimus breathed out slow and controlled when she slid her fingers over his sensitive audio receptors.

"You have yet to do anything."

He heaved a sigh, not wanting to leave this haven. Not to mention, his optics had already scoured the area and he didn't see Elita's chest plate. How far had he thrown it? Then again, some thigh plating of his was missing too . . . "Exactly." He let his lips pout a little for Elita's benefit when her adventurous fingers feathered around his mouth. "I am not a morning mech. Perhaps if morning started around noon, but not now."

That made an audible giggle slip from her lips. Giddy herself that morning after a frolicking night, Elita pressed several more kisses to his face. Her legs shifted, pulling up so they could straddle his waist again. Heat pooled in his abdomen.

"Well. Fortunately, for a Prime, your noon morning starts now."

Optimus groaned softly at Prowl's witty admonishment. He shifted positions, tilting his helm back for Elita's easier access. "Prowl, what do you want."

"It is morning," his momentary second-in-command reported. As if it wasn't obvious. "Agent Fowler has come with our new alternate modes. Twin Twist is being stubborn about taking his. Wheeljack is already looking for trouble."

He vented slowly, resisting the urge to roll his optics to the sky. Instead, his hands ventured more and more over Elita. "I can't trust you to handle this, Prowl?"

"I would appreciate it if you came directly," Prowl stated tighter than before. "Both Ratchet and I are ready to strangle the mech in question, and Twin Twist's childish behavior is beyond immature. Unless you would like them both in the brig," and he didn't elaborate.

Optimus's hummed at Elita's attentions. What was he talking about? Oh yes. "No one will be going to the brig," he told the unsettled Prowl. "Tell Twin Twist we'll settle his alt mode when I get back, and bear with Wheeljack. He would bother you either as Autobot OR Decepticon."

He was just about to hang up when Prowl stated, "Commander, you ARE returning to the base, directly? There is much work to be done, energon to be scouted, and we cannot let our guard down to the Decepticons."

He stifled a moan when Elita suckled on one of his neck wires. His silver protoform gleamed in the sunlight with an almost Decepticon purple hue, something Elita loved to tease him about. "Prowl, we just destroyed Megatron's toy castle yesterday. Am I not allowed a little while longer with my spark mate?"

There was a pause. "Respectfully, you have had all night, and—WHEELJACK! Stop harassing her right now!" There was another brief pause and a, "Oh you really—" and then Prowl caught his tongue. A strained vent. "Optimus, unless you want him locked in the brig, I suggest you come directly."

Optimus growled when Elita tongued over his chest. He rolled over her, saying brusquely to Prowl, "Tell Wheeljack that if he does not behave himself, he will not enjoy what I do when my time with Elita is interrupted. You will not throw him in the brig, you will control your own temper. I will settle all the problems, but I had hoped you all could manage without me for just a few hours."

He hitched Elita's leg up around his hip and pressed a hot kiss to her lips before he managed to finish. "Now, Prowl, I'm going to ask you a very difficult thing for you. Do not contact me for the next hour because I will be enjoying one more round with Elita—"

* * *

><p>"—And if you contact me one klik sooner, the only sound you will hear from me will be more provocative than you want in your memory banks."<p>

Prowl stood shock still at the attitude Optimus suddenly flaunted at him. His logic circuits nearly shorted out at the horrible thought Optimus threatened him with, and his door wings twitched. Once. Twice. And then he finally released a frustrated vent at the almost petulant behavior of the Prime.

He had forgotten how impertinent Optimus could get about his spark mate. And how territorial. And stubborn. He knew he had been asking him a lot. To relinquish the last little bit of time he had with his spark mate. But by PRIMUS he couldn't deal with Wheeljack. Not now. Not ever. He was as bad as those devil twins, pranks and cruelty all rolled into one. His morning had just gone from bad to worse.

Ratchet snorted at him. Prowl lifted optics with thinly veiled irritation. "He's not coming, is he?" Ratchet asked cheekily, knowing very well there was no way he could tear the Prime away from Elita until he was ready.

Prowl cycled the hundredth steadying breath for the morning. "You are not being of much help either, Doctor."

Ratchet gave a shrug. "Wheeljack is not my problem." He lifted his servos in surrender. "I wash my hands of him. My problem lies here with Ultra Magnus." In saying so, he turned to his work, vainly trying to ignore the hullabaloo in the room.

Twin Twist currently hand his arm in between Miko and Wheeljack who was currently harassing the poor human. "Lay off, Wheeljack," he told him with no amount of veiled threat.

"Or what?" Wheeljack said cockily, hiking a brow up and crossing his arms self-righteously. "Gonna stop me like you did with your brother?"

A stricken look crossed Twin Twist's face, and it was Miko's turn to explode at the low blow. "Wheeljack, stop it!" she snapped. "Fine! I don't care what you say to me! But you leave Twin Twist out of it. If your problem's with me, then fine!"

"I've got a problem with ALL of you," he snarled back. "So don't flatter yourself, fleshy—"

"Wheeljack." The rogue Decepticon whirled. Prowl kept his face carefully neutral as he said, "Optimus says to behave yourself so you do not intrude on his time with Elita or else you will not enjoy what he will do to you."

He gave one hard, flat laugh. "Yeah? I'm not afraid of him. And I have been on my best behavior!" He held his hands wide, turning as he said sarcastically, "I haven't tried to gut anyone yet! You ought to grateful for that, you ugly trash compactor."

Prowl drew in a slow, careful vent at his brash behavior. "I meant in regards to your harassment of Miko, Arcee, Twin Twist, and every other person in this room. You are blatantly looking for a fight."

"Then why don't you accommodate me, Tight Aft?" He waggled his brows, grinning with rakish malignity.

His cool front didn't change. "Wheeljack, I am asking you nicely."

"Then ask a little LESS nicely, sugar, I don't have all day."

The Synthen was rushing. It was burning, and it hurt to keep himself in check. He wanted to trash the place. He wanted a fight so badly it felt like the need was reaching up and choking him where he stood. And still, still, yet still Prowl's will did not break.

"I am afraid that would be against protocol, and as much as I would like to shackle you and leave you in the brig to rot, you have Optimus's favor, though you tread on thin ice with his patience as well."

Wheeljack grinned brazenly. He was getting to him. Cold anger dripped from the mech's voice. He was so ready to push the calm and collected one's buttons. He just had to find the right ones. Or wear him down so much he couldn't help but snap. It was a personal challenge now to piss him off.

"C'mon. You know you want to put me in my place. And you've got the rank to do it." Wheeljack curled his fingers. "Let's dance, kitty cat. Lemme see those little claws of yours."

His lips thinned. His door wings twitched. Wheeljack's lip curled at the sight—that was it . . . "I am afraid I am not in the position to abuse my power," he finally said tightly.

"Aw, what do I have to do to get you to crack, you moronic glitch? Maybe step on one of your precious humans?"

His icy cold optics grew colder. "Temper your aggression, Wheeljack," he stated flatly.

"Well, maybe I don't feel like it," Wheeljack replied flippantly, optics glinting right back. "Maybe I'd like to tear your manifolds out and stuff the little one up your afterburner," and his thumb jerked to Raf who visibly paled and ducked out of sight. Bumblebee trilled angrily.

"Wheeljack," Arcee tried vainly to intervene, "stop—"

"Shut it, glitch!" he snapped at her. He turned to face Prowl again, an incensed smile pulling his mouth plates apart. "This is between me and the dog." His door wings twitched again. Wheeljack's cruel grin grew. That was it. He had him.

"Wheeljack," Prowl finally managed to say without shouting, "per Optimus's order or not, if you continue to show such hostility, I will have to put you in cuffs and take you to the brig."

"Then do it," Wheeljack said, dentures flashing. "Use some FORCE, Prowler. Show me you're not messing around." When the mech with the police car alt mode had to take a deep vent, Wheeljack got up in his face. "C'mon, you little valve opening. You're gonna just take this disrespect?" He hit him in his chassis, making him step back. He thought the mech would grind his dentures into dust. "C'mon! Take it out on me! Hit me! Do it, I know you want to!"

Finally, Prowl unlocked his jaw. "I am afraid I am in no position to do so," he stressed tightly. "I refuse to raise a hand to you when I know that that is exactly the rise you are looking for. Please take a deep breath, step away from me, and do not lay another hand on me."

Wheeljack's blazing red optics blinked at him. Prowl really had bested him this round. For some reason, he hated that. He hated it so much. Bested by this aft licker? Fueled with sudden rage and still wanting that fight, Wheeljack whirled to the nearest gangway, and luckily, no humans were on it. He grabbed the long steel bar holding the gangway up and broke it free with a loud screech and snap. The gangway dipped and leaned horribly without the strut.

Then, as Prowl reeled up defensively, Wheeljack stalked over and laid into the alt mode Prowl had scanned.

He smashed the windshield first with a stunning shatter of glass. Then he crushed in the top of the car with a satisfying crunch of metal. Fowler was shouting about the government having to pay for that—but Wheeljack didn't stop. He busted both headlights, jabbed holes into all the windows, and mimicked the damage to the taillights. He slammed the steel beam into the back windshield, and the glass broke in a shower of tiny lethal pieces. He grabbed the top of the car and RIPPED the top off, throwing the remains of that piece back at Prowl's peds.

He snatched up the hood, snapped it in half, and gouged one half into the engine. He took the other half's sharp edge and stabbed into the leather seats, ripping up the expensive police car's interior. The base was completely silent except for the sounds of Wheeljack's violent destruction to the car.

After thoroughly skewering the insides, Wheeljack stabbed the sharp edge into the engine and then proceeded to beat it in deeper so it popped through vital components. The car leaked its bloody viscera all over the floor in black sticky oil, but Wheeljack still wasn't pleased enough. He slugged the car over and over again with the metal beam until he had worked himself quite warm with the vigorous exercise. When the Dodge Charger barely resembled itself anymore, Wheeljack brought his foot back and kicked it out of the doorway of the base. It sailed before crashing, tumbling, and flipping several times before it landed on slashed tires again, nearly squashing several humans along the way.

Grunting in satisfaction, Wheeljack threw the metal beam at Prowl's peds to collect with the crunched top of the car. He saluted mockingly to the second in command, drawling, "Just 'cause I felt like it," and plopped his fuming and sour aft down on the hood of the vehicle that would become Optimus's alt mode.

Still, they both knew without a shadow of a doubt that that show had been the least of what Wheeljack would like to do to him. Still as a statue, Prowl stared at the leftover glass and oil on the floor as well as one side view mirror. His face had ruddied up with muffled outrage, and he found he had nothing suitable to say to the Decepticon's petulant temper tantrum. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked away, trying to keep a lid on things.

* * *

><p>Oddly, when Optimus and Elita came back to the base, it was quiet.<p>

Raf and Bumblebee were playing video games with the volume low. Twin Twist was quietly placated by Miko sitting on his shoulder, plucking at her unplugged guitar. Jack was carrying on a docile conversation with Arcee, Ratchet was humming to himself as he documented Ultra Magnus's condition, and Prowl was sifting through a datapad.

Wheeljack just lounged half in recharge on, apparently, Optimus's alt mode.

Optimus sat Elita down—both thankfully fully armored after a teasing scavenger hunt—and Prowl's optics flicked up to them. He nodded. "Welcome back."

Optimus chose to ignore that slightly patronizing tone he used, actually quite impressed that things had managed to become so civilized from where it had apparently been before. Before he could say or ask anything—especially about the busted up police Dodge Charger outside—the door to Fowler's office opened up, and he strode out with a pinch in his brows and a folder in his hands.

"Do ANY of you bots know what this report is supposed to be about? I've got some strange and specific sounds coming from a valley a few miles out that I just . . . don't quite get."

Ratchet was the closest. With a pucker of his own brown, he took the file carefully from the human and flipped it open. His optics scanned one line, and he choked. He stared before the apocalypse began.

"Oh for the love of Primus—you two just COULDN'T WAIT, could you?" he exploded, and he whirled around, blue optics flashing at the slightly abashed Prime and the completely unrepentant Elita. "You waited millennia and couldn't wait another ten slagging minutes to be somewhere further away to . . . to . . ." He threw his hands up epileptically. "GAH!"

Elita just grinned, and it took Fowler less than a second. His eyes became round. His head moved forward some. His jaw literally gaped. For a second, he just stared at Optimus and Elita a wholly different light, and then he snapped his teeth shut with a click, cleared his throat conspicuously and straightened—or loosened—his tie. Wordlessly, he reached out his hand, fingers curling for the report. Ratchet mechanically handed it back.

Prowl frowned. Blackly. "That was highly inappropriate of both of you. Elita—"

"Oh, and I'm immediately the guilty one?" she interrupted, raising a brow. Prowl just raised a pointed brow back. She rolled her optics and shrugged. "Sorry I've missed him for millennia and he's too sexy for his own good." She turned, and that was when she noticed Optimus. Her optics widened. "Are you blushing?"

"No, I'm not blushing," he said back immediately, but he instantly began to blush a little more.

"You ARE!" she exclaimed triumphantly, and she watched his face pinch a little bit disgruntled, embarrassed even. She leaned up on her toes, pecking a kiss to his lips as she tried not to giggle, "That is so cute. I can't even remember the last time you blushed."

Raf cleared his throat. "Optimus and Elita were heard talking?" he questioned. Every face turned to him. Some beet red and others completely drained of color. His little brows puckered. "If they were heard, they might've been seen. I can check the internet for pictures—"

_ "NO!"_

Raf jumped out of his skin at the sudden vehemence from everyone in the room. He shrank, and Ratchet groaned, pinching his brows as he told the young boy, "Don't worry about it, Raf. _I _will check for PICTURES." And he glared ferociously at both of the delinquents before harrumphing and muttering under his breath, "It was Elita." It always was her. Even Optimus knew better, but Elita? No, she had always been bending the rules close to snapping—or even WAS a rule breaker. Her somewhat childish and rebellious ways always brought him back to another human who had a disregard for authority—

He caught himself short. He turned to stare at Miko from across the room in shock. Miko reminded him of . . . Elita?

Elita turned, catching sight of the car hidden on the other side of Optimus's given alt mode. "Is this mine?"

Flawlessly she drew the attention away from the report. At the same time, Fowler answered, "Yes—" just as Optimus cheekily pinched her aft on her way. She squeaked and whirled, pointing a finger and narrowing her optics. "Now now, behave yourself. There are children, such as young Prowl."

Prowl let out an extremely irritated vent as Miko turned a particular shade of green. "What . . . is with them?"

Ratchet glanced away from her before grumbling, "Don't ask . . ."

A weird look chased its way across Jack's face—like he WANTED to be happy for them, but was currently acutely uncomfortable. Miko, on the other hand, was Miko. A curious shade of green stole over her cheeks, and she leaned against Twin Twist's audio receptor, groaning under her breath, "EW! That is so gross! Oh my gosh, first it's Jackie, now this—UGH, I think I'm gonna hurl . . ."

Elita laughed lightly at the human's reaction, having heard her, and she circled the car at her peds thoughtfully. "It's quite all right, Miko." She finally stopped and cocked her helm. "Agent Fowler, this is a beautiful car."

The silver Mercedes SLS AMG sat sleek and dashing next to the massive truck that would become Optimus. Fowler's chest puffed out some with pride that he had found an alt mode that she approved of, saying, "We thought nothing but the classiest for a femme of your caliber."

She smiled, waving him off. "Oh, you flatter me too much." She looked down on the alt mode. "However . . . May I ask? While this is a fabulous vehicle, I would love to browse some more selections."

She popped his bubble of pride. "Oh. Well, yes, I suppose that's fine."

Elita smiled again, looking with interest at the luxury car. "Of course . . ." she pulled the door handle, a brow arching when the door swung open up gullwing style. Optimus's lips twitched. She liked the flashy doors. "Any other car would have some serious competition here . . . but I think I would like to browse, just to be sure." She stood again, and if possible, her open smile became even broader. "Smokescreen! Would you like to come with me?"

His jaw gaped open for one astonished moment before he bolted forward with an exuberant, "Aw, YEAH! I'd love to come!" Then, blushing brightly and remembering the protocol, snapped to attention with a giddy, "Ma'am."

Elita just chuckled, enthralled. She looked back to Agent Fowler. "Would you mind if I went ahead and scanned the Mercedes so that I may better keep a low profile?"

He inclined his body slightly to her. "Of course."

She whirled with an excited smile, a beam of light extending from her optics as she immediately scanned the vehicle. Then, transforming down, she told Smokescreen, "Lead the way."

Unable to contain an excited whoop, Smokescreen transformed down with her, and Optimus watched with a soft spark as they headed out. Then, he turned his optics on the cavil Decepticon with his aft plopped down on what was apparently his alt mode.

"What we have here," Fowler said to him, "is an experimental all-terrain, expeditionary fighting vehicle, designed by the finest engineers in our M.A.S.K. division." He crossed his arms and gave the Decepticon a look. "Topped with a robot who owes the US government approximately 40,000 dollars."

A lazy smile pulled at Wheeljack's lips. "C'mon, fleshy, don't be mad." He finally opened his optics to fixate mesmerizing red optics on him. He squirmed beneath his gaze. "At least it wasn't Prowler here."

"I apologize, Agent Fowler," Optimus said graciously to him, but Fowler just interrupted him by raising both hands in surrender.

"It's all right, Prime. We can handle it."

Optimus nodded and looked to Wheeljack who still refused to get up without prompting. He extended his hand to the side. "Please stand up, Wheeljack. I must scan my vehicle."

Surprisingly, he got up with a shrug and little misbehavior—the respectful gesture to the Prime after what he had put Prowl through made the police car's wings twitch. After scanning the vehicle, Optimus then turned his attention to said Decepticon. Wheeljack crossed his arms, glaring back.

Optimus nodded a helm. "Perhaps you should become acclimated to your new companions. I suggest—"

Wheeljack arched a brow. "You're suggesting conversation?" Optimus nodded. Wheeljack blinked stark red optics at them. He snorted, but eyed the rest of the group warily. "Right. Sure, I'll do that."

Actually, he didn't. He just moved off to the side and brooded to himself for a while. Each bot went about their own business, and Wheeljack glared at them from across the room. Why had he come here? Because some human told him? Not even a human. Some half-wretch both Cybertronian and human. Maybe he hadn't even been real and he had just been hallucinating. He didn't know. But he didn't want to be here.

It wasn't just that his programming was screaming that he was in enemy territory. That he wanted to gut them all. That the Synthen was agitating him. Even his spark was twisted with unease and conflicting emotions compared to what he thought he should be feeling. He should hate them all. He should despise them, and he felt bad for them. He was sensitive to the human girl. His spark was gored from his chassis every time Twin Twist looked at him, and he couldn't understand why.

He took a deep vent, reorienting himself and his thoughts as he watched the kids start some rounds of video games with the bug. The Decepticons held one story about him. The Autobots clearly held another, different story for him. What he knew lined up with the Decepticons, but the discrepancies in his spark distracted him. His Neurocaroxic line was removed—presumably by Ratchet—and his mind was twisted and corrupted—again, presumably by Ratchet.

He couldn't fathom what that entailed for him. But he didn't know the Autobot side of the story they knew about him. He vented sharply to himself, unable to believe that he was going to do what he was about to do. Get all of the variables and then analyze the situation—

Which meant he had to talk to them.

Pushing off the wall abruptly, he decided to start with the human. There was no way he would associate with a weak human otherwise, so he marched his way over towards the gaming area. Bumblebee jumped before chirping *O-Oh, Wheeljack!*

Wheeljack ignored him. "Hey! You! Meat bag!"

All three humans paused the game and looked up at him. Jack blinked. "Uh—"

"Not you. Pom Poms."

Miko sent a worried glance to Jack before she got up off the couch, again saying, "My name is Miko."

Wheeljack shrugged. "Sure. Whatever." Then, he scooped her up so suddenly that Bumblebee jolted and strode away with the human in hand. Taking her back to his side of the base where they could be alone, he plopped her down on the gangway, crossed his arms and arched a brow. "So?"

Miko shifted. "So . . . What?"

He snorted. "C'mon now."

"What?"

"You know what."

"Really? Because I'm still confused."

Wheeljack vented shortly in irritation. "I know you're about to do the same thing as all the rest of these fools in here. Tell me that I'm not a Decepticon, that I'm an Autobot, something's wrong with my processor, and slag like that."

He watched her pull nervously on her ponytail, chewing on her bottom lip before she looked up at him. "I'm not going to tell you that because you won't believe me. And there's no changing your mind about anything because I know you're stubborn."

Again Wheeljack had to snort, this time in amusement as he stood in front of her. "Well. At least someone gets the picture."

She gave a small shrug, saying back, "I know you the best."

He fixated his unnerving gaze on her, scrutinizing her closer. "Oh, you do?" he said rather skeptically. "Then tell me about me."

He watched her chin jut up as she took in his uncaring tone with just one bat of her eyelashes. She walked forward so she could rest her hands on the railing, and though Wheeljack felt strange keeping optic contact with her, he didn't remove his eyes, trying to intimidate her into looking away first. "I thought you died."

Before he could stop it, he gave one barking laugh. "Right. Anything else?"

She frowned, but kept her gaze stubbornly level with his. "About two weeks ago, the Decepticons attacked the Autobot base. Everyone evacuated, but you fought outside in the Jackhammer. You were shot down, and I—I thought you had died."

She choked, but kept her sight fixated on him. His upper lip twitched a little against a snarl because SHE was intimidating HIM instead of the other way around. Wheeljack jerked a thumb Twin Twist's way. "Because he and his twin shot me down. Why else?"

"They didn't shoot you down," Miko told him flatly. "Starscream did."

"Starscream shot THEM down," Wheeljack growled back, fingers tightening on his arms as the eye contact between them crackled with tension. "He was trying to protect my back."

"That doesn't make any sense!" she snapped. Finally, she looked away, and Wheeljack was able to take a steadying vent as she stomped back and forth on the gangway briefly, struggling to comprehend what she was hearing. Finally, she whirled on him. "I bet you don't even remember you were a Wrecker!"

Wheeljack smirked grimly. "Of course I remember that."

Her eyes popped huge. She all but leapt towards him, grinning from ear to ear. "You do! Wait—" and her smile faltered. "I bet that's messed up too."

"Let's get one thing straight," he rumbled dangerously, and when he took a step forward, Miko winced before looking directly at him. He jabbed a finger at her. "There is NOTHING messed up about me, got it? I know what happened, I'm just amused by what you Autobots think about me."

Though her lips pressed angrily, she nodded jerkily. "Fine. Nothing's wrong with you."

His red optics narrowed. He clamped his hands on his hips, leaning down. "You're not going to fight me on this like the rest of them are?"

Miko shook her head. "No. Because I know you're so stubborn that nothing I tell you is going to change your mind."

Grunting, Wheeljack crossed his arms again, peering down at her. "Yeah? You're not scared either. I could crush you right now."

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I know. But you won't."

Her flippant discarding of his threat made his protoform prickle in frustration. "Don't be too sure, fleshy."

Miko just shook her head. "Again. I know you the best." When he just made a disgruntled face, she continued with, "So? What do you remember about the Wreckers?"

"Why I left," he stated flatly.

Miko shifted. "So?"

Wheeljack vented in exasperation, brows frowning. He jerked his thumb towards the medical area where Ratchet was busy working over Ultra Magnus's condition. "He's my problem."

"Ratchet?"

"Not the Doc," Wheeljack scowled. "Ultra Magnus!"

Her brows shot up and her eyes opened wide. "Wait—what did he do?"

"Look, you little organ sack, the commander there and I have a history," Wheeljack muttered. "In fact, I'm quite happy to see him on ice and I'm tempted to pull the plug on him myself. Take Prowl's tight-aft control-freak style and multiply it by ten."

Miko looked like she pulled a muscle as she looked towards Ultra Magnus. "Seriously? Is that even possible?" But, she had a feeling he was stretching the truth.

"Damn right." Wheeljack cracked his knuckles as bloodlust unintentionally began to bubble up in him. The Synthen scorched his systems, aggravating his personality. "He wanted to take the Wreckers and turn them into the Elite Guard. But nah, I'm fine, I'm a team player, so I go with it. And then comes the Battle of Thunderhead Pass."

She shifted. "What happened?"

Wheeljack gave a careless shrug while he secretly seethed on the inside. "I broke protocol. I disobeyed a direct order to go save one of the team. Pyro."

Miko blanched. "P-Pyro?" she rasped.

"Yeah." Wheeljack grunted, crossing his arms tightly over his chassis as the pain crept back up into his spark. "I broke protocol to go back and get him, but it didn't matter. I watched him choke up his own energon as he died. The Wreckers—we were pinned. We would have all died that day if Optimus Prime and his little groupies didn't come in and save our afts."

He brooded darkly, crimson red optics darkening several shades as he briefly recounted the tale. "So when we finally get back, I don't get amended for trying to save one of my closest friends, I don't even get some comfort for the fact that I lost one of my closest friends. Ultra Magnus reamed me for disobeying his orders, AND blamed Pyro's death on me." His fist clenched. "On top of that, when I go to my best friend for some solace, what does Bulkhead do? He fragging betrays me by taking Ultra Magnus's side and then deserting the Wreckers for Optimus and his band of cronies."

Miko blinked in shock at him, trying to understand if this was a true story or not or if it was just another twisted lie the Decepticons had planted in his mind. But, the nagging remembrance that Bulkhead HAD mentioned the Battle of Thunderhead Pass as the one that made him transfer from the Wreckers to join up with Optimus bothered her . . .

"So I left," Wheeljack stated simply. "I couldn't stand the hypocrisy of the Autobots, so I went to wander the stars on my own. I was a loose cannon for the longest until I met up with an old Wrecker on a distant planet. Seaspray. He was friendly enough, but was shady, so I decided to leave him. Before I could leave though, I was hailed by a Decepticon ship." Wheeljack rolled his neck, cracking it in several places restlessly. "The 'Con stated he had detected an explosive on the back fin of my ship, and since I was basically a Neutralist at this point, he had the good graces in him to tip me off.

"It was a proximity bomb. Would have killed me in an instant once I got out into orbit. My new friend disabled the bomb and we hatched a plan to get back at Seaspray." Wheeljack smirked. "So we planted the bomb back on the fragger's ship and blew him sky high. Dreadwing and I became the closest team after that day, and that's why I defected to the Decepticons." He grinned. "Not to mention, I got to use my science skills for a lot more disruptive and dangerous weaponry than the Autobots ever let me make."

Miko was completely white with dread at this point. Finally, he watched her mouth open and her voice cracked out, "That's not true and you know it."

"Like Pit I know it's true!" Wheeljack snarled back. "Don't tell me—that's not how you remember it?" and sarcasm dripped from his voice like blood.

She shook her head. "You said after the Wreckers disbanded that you went searching the stars for them. Dreadwing planted a proximity bomb on Seaspray to take both you AND him out, and you swore revenge on Dreadwing after that."

"Revenge against Dreadwing?" Wheeljack gave a loud, barking mad laugh. "Like I'd ever hurt him! This was the mech I could pour my soul out to you presumptuous skin job. I vowed VENGEANCE for Dreadwing when Bulkhead killed him!"

Miko flinched in a brief shot of horror before anger suddenly sapped into her being. "That's a lie!" she shouted back at him. "Dreadwing killed Bulkhead, and you know it! You saw it! We both went out for revenge against him! One grenade, one shot!"

"One shot for that fat-aft Wrecker!" Wheeljack cut in with a growl, and he felt his armor hinge up defensively even as his spark sang a different song to him.

"That's not true!" she cried out again, hot tears springing into her eyes. "You're lying! That's wrong, it's all wrong!"

Wheeljack scowled, lip curling up at her as attention drifted their way, tense and calculating if Wheeljack was going to attack something. "Believe what you want, glitch. You weren't there! I was! I know what happened! I know exactly what happened!"

His voice rang for a moment, but she didn't fight him. He growled shortly before turning to the side and crossing his arms in frustration. That bothered him to Pit that he couldn't get a big rise out of her. She was too patient with him. Too nice. Too understanding and too familiar. And his spark was in a volatile state right now, pained and agitated as they stoutly ignored each other for the next several minutes.

It was so quiet Wheeljack could even hear Prowl arguing with the Prime about himself again. But eventually, what broke the silence was the sharp rev of an engine, and blue and yellow shot into the room at near top speed before breaking, spinning into a flashy doughnut at Twin Twist and Arcee's peds.

The femme in question arched a brow. "Smokescreen?"

The rookie transformed up with a groan. "Aww, what gave me away?" When Arcee's face could only pinch a little as she fought an 'aww, that's cute' look at his childish ways, he said, "C'mon! Robots in disguise! Right?"

Prowl clicked in irritation, narrowing his optics at what made his ostentatious alt mode even MORE glaring than before. He could only huff to himself that at least he had gotten rid of those horrendous double 38s on his doors. Before he could berate the mech for going to such a showy paint job, Optimus stepped forward with a chinch in his brows.

"Where is Elita?"

To answer his question, another car came screaming in. Only this one was a rosy pink as the commander always was. She performed one wide swirling doughnut around Optimus's peds before coming to a rest in front of him.

The Prime's head actually tilted to the side to check his spark mate out.

The Bugatti Veyron was sporty enough to go with that saucy kick of her personality, but just sleek enough to be classy, and curvy enough to get Optimus all slack-jawed. Her engine purred a sexy sound as his optics drew over the luxurious length of her chosen alt mode, a delicate balance of high-powered performance and sleek, racy design. The pure, sleek elegance of the car had everyone staring, and Elita playfully revved her engine at Optimus before she transformed back into her bipedal mode.

"Do you like it?"

Prowl audibly groaned, pinching his brows as a low rumble rattled Optimus's chassis. "Like it?" he repeated. "Darling, I think you've outdone yourself."

"She certainly has," Prowl reprimanded them tightly. "Did you HAVE to pick such a meretricious alternate mode, ma'am? We are robots in DISGUISE. We are supposed to be keeping a low profile, and a flaunting alt mode like that will only bring attention."

Elita sighed in mild annoyance, saying airily, "Prowl, I know exactly the kind of attention I was going for, and that was to be a huge distraction." In saying so, she pinched Optimus's aft as she passed to settle the score, and she shimmied out of reach with a giggle when he snatched at her.

"Now now, Elita," Optimus teased her with a sly arch of his brow. "There are children around."

Miko and Wheeljack both groaned immediately at the public display of affection, and Prowl was left to try to politely but sternly try to keep the two newly united spark mates from acting like newlyweds. "If that doesn't stop right now I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do to them," Wheeljack muttered.

Miko shrugged a shoulder, just managing to keep her nose from sniffing. "Oh really? You're one to talk. You were just as bad with Arcee, if not worse."

Wheeljack's brows rose. "Arcee?" He looked over at the femme, checked her out, liked what he saw, and turned back to Miko. "You're telling me I had a thing with her?"

The young human narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Yes. As far as I know, it was pretty serious too."

Wheeljack laughed heartily, taking a great deal of amusement in this epiphany. Him? With a femme? Sure, he liked femmes, and he guessed he would take one if he wanted, but he never really did have the time for femmes. But worse—a relationship? Ha! As if!

"Hey! Candy!" Wheeljack immediately left the human, making her huff in irritation, but the blue femme immediately looked at him. Then, realizing what she had just responded to, she scowled.

"My name is ARCEE."

"Sure thing, Baby Cakes. But I've got some great news!" In his excitement to annoy her, the Synthen began to prickle again, teasing his systems. "I just found out we're in a relationship!"

A myriad of emotions chased their way across her face before she finally settled on indifference. "Well, until we straighten out whatever is wrong with your processor, we are NOT in a relationship."

"Aw, c'mon, Baby, don't be like that," and he approached her closer, making her take a defensive step back. He flashed a grin, wondering exactly how much he could take advantage of her. "You know as well as I do . . ." and he dipped his voice an octave, purring dangerously, "that there's NOTHING wrong with my processor."

She wavered beneath him for one klik before she vented sharply and backed away again, putting some distance in between them. "No. Right now, you aren't the same mech I cared for." His optics darkened a threatening shade, glaring at her. "You're changed, and you're not the same. You're just trying to intimidate me, and it's not going to work, got it? I need you to keep your space, and—"

Before she could tell him to keep his hands to himself, he whipped out a katana and rushed her. She reacted instantly for his attack, but she was too slow, and he slammed her up against the wall, katana pinned at her neck. Shouts rose up. Weapons trained themselves on him, but Wheeljack paid them no heed as he towered over Arcee, scarred lips curing up deviously.

"Oh, I can't intimidate you?" he murmured suggestively to her. Her vents came short and fast, making her chest plates heave. Wheeljack pressed himself against her, grinding against her, delighting in the pleasure he derived from the action. "Tell me," he purred with a provocative lick of his lips, "Are you intimidated?"

Her throat worked beneath the sharp edge of his blade, cutting and making her bleed a thin trail of fresh energon. "No," she rasped.

Wheeljack smirked at the blatant lie, but Optimus's voice cut into the moment with a flat, "Wheeljack, stand down."

"Gimme a second," Wheeljack said flippantly back, red optics boring into blue that swirled with a mixture of defiance, fear, and arousal. He could practically taste that delightful mix of emotions on his glossia. He leaned down so their lips were nothing but a hairs breadth apart, muttering, "We're in a relationship. It's the least I can do to kiss you."

He tipped his helm down for the kill, and all the fight went out of her. Her optics closed in surrender, and her mouth parted in heady wait. Wheeljack paused when he felt her breath on him, and he smirked when he realized she had already given in.

Too easy.

Grabbing her neck, he slung her to the ground behind him, and he grinned a patronizing and triumphant grin. She stared in shock, a thin stream of energon trickling down her neck. "Just wanted me to keep my space, right?" he taunted her. Then, he punctuated his mocking statement with a lewd lick to his katana, tasting her sweet energon.

Hot energon flushed to her cheeks. Humiliated, she transformed and drove off before anyone could stop her, and Wheeljack just laughed, delighting in this game he played with them. Before Optimus could say anything—as his optics had darkened in anger for Wheeljack's degrading treatment of Arcee—Twin Twist stormed forward, cobalt blue optics glaring.

"You need to back off."

Wheeljack whirled on him, katana clenched tightly in hand, and his optics blazed erratically at the Wrecker. "Yeah?" he said with a lilting aggression marring his laughter. "You might want to take a step back, you half-dead glitch. You're looking for a fight."

"Well, maybe I want one," Twin Twist snarled back, dangerously on edge and raw with the loss of his brother. Optimus and Miko both spoke at the same time, the former warning them to stand down and the latter pleading for them not to fight. Both mechs ignored them. "After all, in any other situation, revenge would be what is called for after what happened to Topspin. And brother or not, you're making it damn hard for me to resist it."

"Then DON'T," Wheeljack growled with a mad glint in his optics. "Let's DANCE."

"No," Twin Twist snapped. "You're one of us, and your messed up processor isn't going to goad me into attacking you. I'm just telling you to lay off Miko and Arcee and the rest of these guys because you know as well as I do that you came here for one reason."

His protoform prickled in ire. "That's my business and no one else's," he rumbled dangerously, the tension between them nearly crackling to snap. The Wrecker knew about his missing Neurocaroxic line?

But the next words Twin Twist spoke nullified that thought. "It's clear to all of us you just came to finish the job," he spat venomously.

His anger coaxed the Synthen to rush with the almost violate need to act on his aggression. In a flash, he had his katana resting against the Wrecker's neck in warning. "Don't tempt me," he hissed.

"Wheeljack—" Optimus began severely.

"Then do it!"

Caught off guard, Wheeljack just blinked almost blankly at Twin Twist. But the Wrecker's optics were hateful. Inundated with anguish and misery and bare defiance and a fiery bold challenge. He grabbed Wheeljack's katana by the blade, cutting his hand open he gripped it so tightly, and he pressed it firmer against his neck.

"Kill me!" he snapped. Wheeljack gritted his dentures, red optics flattening as he presented him with this temptation. The room was completely silent save for Twin Twist's ragged ventilations. One quick slice and he'd be dead. He could steal his Neurocaroxic line and be on his way.

Twin Twist's optics blazed feverously when Wheeljack failed to retaliate. "Do it!" he snarled again, and he pressed the sword harder into his neck, cutting several cables and making energon leak. "You didn't have a problem with my brother, so frag it to Pit, kill me! It's what you want, right? Then do it, you spineless Decepticon! Kill me!"

Wheeljack growled shortly in anger, shoving against the Wrecker and pressing his blade ready for the kill. Just a quick cut and he'd be dead in a spark beat. But though his entire body was reeled up for the strike—

He couldn't do it.

It was like those passionate blue optics KNEW he couldn't do it. Like he had known from the beginning. Wheeljack snarled, rage bubbling up, but as much as he hated the mech, his spark was receiving mixed emotions on all sides, confusing him, hurting him. He couldn't do it.

"Do it!" he screamed at him. Twin Twist gouged the katana deeper into his neck, causing his own energon to pour speedily down his neck. "Kill me! KILL ME!"

With a sharp growl, Wheeljack backhanded the mech and slammed the blunt hilt of his katana against the Wrecker's temple. Twin Twist crashed in an unconscious heap on the ground, and Wheeljack finally vented between gritted teeth before looking up to his audience.

He reeled up again. Prowl was ready to blast him into oblivion, yes, but the rest? It was like they had acknowledged this moment as weakness. Like he actually couldn't hurt them. Instead of denying it—as it would only make him seem that much weaker—Wheeljack smirked devilishly.

"Don't look so surprised," he drawled as he calmly—with a shake of his servo—sheathed his katana. "You thought I was actually gonna kill that glitch? Ha! As if. I'm going to let him live. I'm going to let him live, and suffer that spark break until he begs to be put out of his misery. And then I'll let him struggle even longer until he tries to take his own life. And when he does, I'll be there—and only THEN will I kill this wretch!"

He caught optic contact with Miko again from across the room. Horrified tears beaded in her eyes, catching on her lashes. Unrest surged through Wheeljack's spark. Angrily, he transformed down, gunning it out of the hangar for some space.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**For the record... Wheeljack's bit on Pyro, Ultra Magnus, and Bulkhead? That canonically in my universe DID happen. The Battle of Thunderhead Pass is when Bulkhead chose to leave the Wreckers for Optimus, is when Wheeljack disobeyed Ultra Magnus's order to save Pyro, failed in saving Pyro (his death dates back to the 13th chapter of OHOS) and Ultra Magnus DID grill Wheeljack hard for his choice which led to Wheeljack's desertion of the Wreckers.**

**(this is also my theory for canon, why Wheeljack and Magnus never got along because I couldn't really fathom Wheeljack leaving the Wreckers because, "Aw, new commander's making me follow the rules, _weh_, I'm leaving." So I thought of something plausible and tied it back to OHOS)  
><strong>

**Also, for the record, in OHOS, Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus don't get along either .**


	55. Graffiti

**Author's Note:**

**Yay! :D Another super long chapter! Enjoy and review lots with love! ^-^**

**Thank you for reviewing last chapter: Lewascan2, Spiritstrike, 2featherbraids, Kuurankukka, Sounddrive, Grace, FireReader93 (stick it through this chapter please!) ZeDancingHobbit, TheIrishPixie, and Transformersfan01! ^-^ Hope to hear from a lot more of you!**

**_"Cotton-candy, lollipop_**

**_Sticky like a post-it_**

**_Be your bad habit_**

**_Throw me up against the wall first_**

**_I take advantage of you_**

**_You take advantage of me_**

**_Drink up this bottle again_**

**_And paint your body on me_**

**_Put your graffiti on m!_**

**_Put your graffiti on me!_**

**_Put your graffiti on me!"_**

**Put You Graffit On Me_Kat Graham**

* * *

><p>"All I'm saying is you don't have to be a douche about everything."<p>

"I'm not! You don't hear me complaining about having to lug your slag around, do you?"

"Well, considering you embarrassed Raf so much he didn't show his face for two days, have been inappropriately touching Arcee, picking fights with Prowl, and showing a general disregard for EVERYONE, all the while managing to break every string on my guitar . . ."

Wheeljack vented in agonized frustration. "Whatever." He couldn't help how surly he sounded. It was like, he wanted to be here, but he didn't. If that made any sense? Pit, it didn't even make sense to himself. After a moment of annoyed silence, Wheeljack tried again.

"So, you're my human partner."

"Yup." Miko nodded, sitting in his front seat and playing with a can of paint. "We've been partners for over six months now."

Wheeljack grunted, driving towards the Autobot base. He was surprised they had let him out of the base alone at all, much less with the squishy human, but Miko had to have some magic eyes to look at the Prime and ask him for some alone time with her guardian and actually get it.

He reviewed the stories in his mind—Miko said they became partners when Dreadwing killed Bulkhead. In Wheeljack's processor, he had killed Bulkhead for killing Dreadwing, and he had never even met this human. That made things easy, didn't it?

Ah, but they were trying to avoid all conversation like that. Talking about his Decepticon or Autobot background only begat arguments and fighting, so Miko's deal for the day had been that they spend some quality time together without bringing all of it up. Straining for conversation (since he was a mech of few words in the first place) Wheeljack finally ventured, "So, ah . . . What do we need all of this paint for?"

His trunk AND back seats were filled to the brim with spray paint. There was lots of different colors, even metallic and sparkles, all varying in size. Miko grinned, holding the sparkly pink in her hands.

"Graffiti!"

Wheeljack made an indefinite noise as they drew closer to the vicinity of the base. When prompted, Wheeljack provided his clearance to get closer and spared them of getting shot at. "What's graffiti?"

"Basically, we're going to draw all over a wall."

Wheeljack gave an approving grunt. "This is against protocol, isn't it?"

"Yup."

"I like it."

Miko grinned with a laugh at his pleased tone, saying, "You WOULD. Just don't tell Optimus—or Prowl. Or anyone."

"Sure thing, Babe," he said flippantly, and he missed the way her breath hitched at the familiar pet name. "We'll head over to the mess hall and—" He stopped mid-sentence, and a devious plan hatched immediately in his mind when he saw Arcee outside of the confines of their base. "Slag this is gonna be good." And before Miko could ask what, Wheeljack had transformed into his bipedal mode, plopped her on his shoulder, and taken the spray paint can from her hand.

Squeezing it, the can exploded over the inside of his palm bright pink and glittery, fresh and wet. As he came up behind her, Wheeljack gave one solid smack to Arcee's aft.

Miko just groaned in exasperation while Arcee whirled with an angry yelp. "Wheeljack! I told you to stop that already!"

He shook his head, taking a step back and keeping his pink palm out of her sight since she clearly hadn't noticed his hand print glimmering beautifully on her aft. Mission: success. "Sorry, Hun, got a little excited, that's all. Want to come with me and Miko and graffiti?"

She narrowed her optics. "That's against the rules."

Wheeljack shrugged, easily making her keep her mouth shut with the coy remark of, "Just thought I'd extend the invitation. Well, we're gonna have some fun, so try and keep your mouth shut, all right?"

With that, he transformed down, successfully hiding his hand from her, and Miko plopped in the front seat with a small huff. Wheeljack chuckled, thoroughly enjoying antagonizing the group of Autobots.

"So. How long until someone mentions that pretty little handprint?"

Miko wrinkled her nose. "I don't know. It'll take a while. No one's gonna want to point that out to her or . . . Well, the words 'don't shoot the messenger' come to mind."

Wheeljack chuckled, driving straight into the mess hall. "Good. We'll have at least a little time before she comes back ready to kill me." Transforming up, sending many of the humans in the room shouting and gaping in amazement at their first close up of the bots they were going to be fighting with. "Move it!" Wheeljack barked at the underfoot humans, and shoving tables aside with his peds as he spotted the far wall he wanted. Most of the humans scattered, the bravest of them staying to gawk, but the amazement was universal. After clearing away some more tables to widen their work area, Wheeljack put a servo on his hip and deposited Miko on the floor.

"Here looks good."

She held her tongue about his crass way of moving everyone and everything out of his way, especially since he could have done that a lot meaner and violent. He seemed pretty mellowed out today, a good plus in her regard. He transformed down again, letting her unload his trunk and back seats of all the paint, and once she had done that, he transformed up again. He took a glance at the humans still mulling in the room.

"Any of you skin jobs breathe a word of this to anyone and I'll snap you like a twig."

More humans fled while he sent a few into fits of laughter. Miko shoved a big box towards him, saying, "Here! You can use the jumbo sized ones. And the canned paint—" and she shoved a few huge bins of paint towards him as well as wrestling a massive paint brush from its prison of plastic. "Now—graffiti!"

She immediately snatched up the brown and tan colors, one for each hand, and Wheeljack just eyed what he was given. He squatted, picking up the wooden brush gingerly between his fingers. "So? What am I supposed to draw?"

"Anything!" Miko chirped chipperly. "Use your imagination!"

Wheeljack rolled his red optics. Imagination. Right. He had some of that. Instead, as Miko eagerly began on the wall, Wheeljack gave a deep rumble as he popped the lid off the blue. Dunking the brush into it, Wheeljack attacked the wall with several wide strokes, curved and deliberate. Then, once finished filling in, took another bottle of pink spray paint, crushed it in his palm, and slapped the wall. He caught Miko looking at him. He shrugged.

"It's Arcee's aft."

He grinned, but obviously Miko didn't appreciate it with the arched brow and impatient look. Wheeljack rolled his optics again, narrowing his optics in irritation and painting a big blue block over his art to start over. He debated a moment before catching sight of Miko's work below. An impressed brow rose.

"Hey, that's actually pretty good compared to the crap you draw with colored pencils."

This time, it was Miko's turn to roll her eyes in exasperation at the double-edged compliment that both flattered and insulted. "Thanks," she said instead, focusing on the finishing touches of the fluffy tail of the cat. "I'm actually pretty good with graffiti, it's just against the law and stuff, so I don't do it much."

Wheeljack shifted uncomfortably when she etched the word "Bulky" beneath the finished picture of the cat and set aside her colors for a fresh batch, coming up with a lot of green. He narrowed his optics. She was. Instead of dwelling on the silent issue she presented him with, Wheeljack reached for black and white.

"You know what needs drawn up here? Prowler. And I need him in a grass skirt."

Miko snorted before busting out laughing. She shook the green can vigorously, grinning up at Wheeljack. "Oh, I would PAY to see that!"

"Well, you're gonna get it," he said smartly back, beginning to draw a comically blocky version of Prowl. "And completely free of charge, too."

As they finally settled into quiet companionship, Wheeljack felt a warning trip his interior. Low on energon already? He scowled. How was that possible? He had just had a full refuel a few days ago! As he roughly drew Prowl, he ran several internal scans for the problem. He was burning through the energon too fast. What was the problem with that?

Irritably, Wheeljack wondered for the thousandth time who had done what to his body. Whether it was the Doctor of Doom or if it had indeed been Knockout, he didn't care at this point. All he knew was something internal was off, and it was effecting every Primus-slagged thing going on with him.

Ah, his energon transfusion capacitor. It was raw, like it had been corroded and eaten away by acid, and thus, his consumption of energon was thinning. He couldn't process the energon correctly.

"So . . . Wheeljack?"

He grunted. "Yeah?" For good measure, he painted Prowl's optics red, just to spite him.

Miko looked up sideways at him. "So . . . I know we said we weren't going to talk about it, but . . . Do you believe anything we've said about you? About you being an Autobot?"

"Nope."

She winced. "Oh . . . So you still believe the Decepticons."

"I don't trust them either."

Miko stopped short, turning to look up at him with a confused expression. "What are you talking about? So what do you believe?"

Wheeljack shrugged an aggravated shoulder. "I don't believe anyone. The only one I can trust at this point is myself because everyone's just trying to use me."

There was a pause. "I'm not."

Wheeljack glanced down at the small human, but she didn't look at him. In fact, she didn't say anything more than that small acclamation. Finally, with an irritated huff that she was getting under his protoform, Wheeljack reached for the green spray paint to draw Prowl's grass skirt.

"Don't forget his coconut bra," Miko tipped him off helpfully as she drew hearts around Bulkhead, coughing a little from the smell of the paint.

"You got it, Babe," he said, grabbing some brown for that part. "What're you gonna draw next?"

She took a step back, surveying her work so far, and then, she grinned. "Jack. With rainbow colored Elvis hair."

Wheeljack gave a bark of laughter, grinning down at her. "I like it!"

Miko giggled, snatching up more paint as she admitted, "I'm no good at drawing humans, so he's gonna look more like a giraffe anyways . . ."

"Just as long as he gets the point," Wheeljack said.

"Oh man, if we get caught, we are in SO much trouble . . ."

Wheeljack shrugged a shoulder and reached for the black spray paint. "Don't you worry about it. I'll say it's all me. After all, how much more trouble can I get into?" Wheeljack chuckled, and then his red optics alighted as he decided to push the envelope on how much trouble he could get into. In bold letters next to Prowl, he wrote the words _"To enslave and punish the Autobots."_

Miko groaned as she watched him do that. "Wheeljack! Jeez, lay off Prowl, he's really not so bad."

Wheeljack snorted in response. "Yeah? Really?"

Miko pursed her lips, put her hands on her hips, and gave him one of those looks eerily close to what Elita could do. "Wheeljack. Be nice. Now draw me a big rainbow."

He eyed her hard in their staring contest, and finally he groaned and huffed a displeased, "FINE!" and first grabbed the red.

Miko grinned in triumph. "Make it really big! Across the whole wall! I'll do the leprechaun later!"

And so, their graffiti continued with gusto, mixed with a lot of laughter and a generally carefree environment even with Wheeljack under the effects of the Synthetic energon. It seemed that most of his strife stemmed from the Autobots, but with just Miko? He felt . . . fine, actually. He felt better than he had in a long time, believe it or not, even though he was drawing big clouds and a sun.

And then, as Miko finished the leprechaun and pot of gold, the inevitable happened.

"WHEELJACK!"

Miko winced at the faint yell of absolute pure anger, but Wheeljack grinned, halting his progress on his recently assigned palm tree. He jerked a thumb. "You better hide, Babe, this isn't gonna be pretty."

Miko groaned, dropping the green spray can. "You just HAD to do that, didn't you . . ." she muttered, but obediently went to hide.

Humming to himself as he awaited his doom, Wheeljack took red and orange colors and began to add a string of lights to the palm tree as if it was a Christmas Tree. Then, he heard the angry stomping of Arcee drawing close until it entered the room, sharp stamps cutting the quiet air.

They stopped behind him. Wheeljack continued to hum a tuneless song, and finally, he heard her heave, "I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You."

Wheeljack turned with a slow smile. "Aw, c'mon, Wookums, it can't be THAT bad."

She squeezed her optics shut, and he watched as Arcee took vain and controlled breaths to reign in her temper. "Wheeljack," she strained out, "you—"

"I thought it looked good on you," he interrupted cheekily, and he watched the heat of energon flare up in her face. He let his optics draw up and down her once. "Damn you're hot when you're angry."

That snapped her careful control. With a choked, outraged shout, Arcee lunged at him. Wheeljack ducked, and realizing he had his hands full of two spray paint bottles, knew he had no way to grapple with her right now, so he sprayed both cans at her.

She yelped, backing out of his range so he couldn't ruin her paint job further. He grinned when he watched her hesitate. "What's wrong, Booger Butt? A little paint's gonna stop you from getting me?"

Her optics flashed, and Wheeljack couldn't help but grin and laugh when she attacked him again. He suffered a hit to his shoulder, jaw and stomach before he realized he really needed a hand free to toy with her. So, he did the only reasonable thing in his mind's eye and crushed the orange paint can against her chest, leaving one breast comically colored orange to go with the pink hand print.

She squealed again in indignation, backing away and blushing hotly as she tried to wipe it off unsuccessfully. Arcee snarled one more time, a glutton for punishment, and Wheeljack dropped the other can on the floor. Intercepting her, Wheeljack flipped her, and she landed flat on her back, all of the air whooshing from her systems. Then, Wheeljack turned her on her stomach, and before she could put up a defense, plopped his aft on hers, wrenched her arms back and locked them to her back with one hand.

Arcee growled almost feral beneath him, bucking with the futile effort to get his weight off. "Wheeljack—GET OFF!"

"No can do, Cutie Pie. You were asking for this."

In saying so, he grabbed the nearest spray paint can, this one being a gloriously bright red to stand out stark against her blue, and he began to write on her arms. She bucked and squirmed beneath him.

"Wheeljack! Get off of me! Right now!"

Wheeljack grinned. "You better hold still or you're gonna get me all hot and bothered grinding up on me, Chicka." She flushed and stopped immediately, prompting another laugh from him as he finished on arm and began on the other. "Don't worry, I'm almost done . . ."

"You will be done right now, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack idly lifted his helm from his prey to see, ah, look who it was. Prowl! The mech's optics flicked over the room, taking in the paint and the graffiti critically, and his wings twitched when he saw his Decepticon self dressed in a grass skirt and coconut bra, and the smacking words _"To punish and enslave the Autobots."_

"Give me one more second, Prowler."

"Wheeljack. NOW."

Ignoring said command, Wheeljack finished the last couple of letters and released Arcee, saying, "There you go, Sugar," as Arcee bolted out of his reach before inspecting the damage done to her arms. Her optics grew round and horrified. There, up and down her arms, both in Cybertronian lettering and Earth lettering, were the words _"Property of Wheeljack."_

She stared for a full klik before looking up at the smug Wheeljack. Then, with an indistinguishable sound of frustration and anger, she whirled and stalked out, muttering under her breath the entire time.

Wheeljack tossed the paint can and turned to face Prowl. "So, what do want, Snoopy?"

Prowl stiffened at the dog name jibe. "Wheeljack. I do believe you have done quite enough. Where is Miko? You both must answer for breaking protocol with your . . ." and he paused a moment, searching for the right word in his databanks, "GRAFFITI."

"This ain't graffiti!" Wheeljack chided him as if he were dumb. "This is glorious ART! And that hurts, you thinking I had help doing this."

"You both have been absent all day," Prowl stated strictly, "and Arcee reported that you both were having some 'bonding' time. Much less, the difference between levels of art is apparent, and I highly doubt you would draw Bulkhead or Bulky."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics. That no good police snooper wasn't going to mess with her. "You don't have any proof," he spat back. "So where's Miko?"

Prowl narrowed his optics right back, stifling his irritation that Wheeljack was helping shield Miko from due punishment. It was surprising too, that he would stick up for the human. "Wheeljack, you have broken protocol one too many times, your level of threat to the Autobots has not diminished, and you have been a general nuisance on levels that even I have troubles comprehending." Which was saying something, considering Prowl knew he had used to have to put up with and handle the infamous Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. "I have kept my peace the past several days as Optimus had requested of me, but I cannot ignore you any longer."

Wheeljack grinned, stalking forward. Yes, that was it . . . The Synthen began to rush, burning up his systems on an intoxicating high as he anticipated it. "Yeah? You want to throw down, Prowl?"

His optics flattened. "No. I want you in the brig and under lockdown until we can figure out what has gone wrong with your programming."

Abruptly, Wheeljack shoved the mech back, red optics flaring dangerously. "There is NOTHING wrong with my processor!" he snapped back, though he very well knew there was something wrong. He didn't know why he denied it. "Now you can back the frag off before I break your jaw, got it?"

Prowl vented carefully. "And another threat," he intoned. "You add just another incident for my already hefty list."

"Yeah?" Wheeljack purred back, hands literally twitching with the urge to get his hands on the mech. "You think the brig's gonna stop me? Ain't that cute, the little dog running to his master for permission to handle me."

Prowl's wings tipped sharply up. His brow darkened. "Curb your tongue," he managed tightly. Everything in his body reeled up for the impending strike. "I am no dog, and you would do well to remember it, DECEPTICON."

Wheeljack's red optics darkened threateningly. He hit Prowl's chassis again, determined not to snap before the police car. He wanted HIM to take the first swing. "Yeah?" he growled, rage peaking close to boiling over. "Well, let's throw down, you little mutt. I'm not afraid of ya."

Finally, Prowl vented an extremely tight breath. "You are getting good at that," he finally replied with a razor-thin smile. "But I am not falling for it. I am not going to fight you, but I will report you." He batted his optics once. "I hope you enjoy your time in the brig."

Wheeljack stared for one hot moment as Prowl turned to walk away as he always did, and then, a rakish, angry grin crossed his features.

"So you're just gonna take this?" Wheeljack hollered at him, red optics flashing. "Gonna bend over and take it up that tight aft of yours?"

Prowl halted short. Wheeljack grinned in triumph. That was it . . . He watched his helm roll down, and he heard a short, flat laugh.

Wheeljack let Prowl whirl around and took his fisted attack right to the chin. The crack of pain as his dentures snapped into each other was delicious. Primus it was delicious. He had missed that kind of pain!

Wheeljack reeled back with a stagger before he face Prowl's muted smug face. "That felt nice, didn't it?" Wheeljack said with a toothy grin, spitting a glob of bright green energon on the floor.

"As much as it pains me to agree with you," Prowl replied mildly, slouching for the attack, "it felt VERY good."

Wheeljack slunk down too, hands splayed. "Well don't you worry," he promised him. "It's not gonna feel good for long. Cause by the time I'm done with you, you're gonna be my BITCH."

* * *

><p>Within the first thunderous clash of the two titans, Miko had bolted from her hiding place and began to run, heart sputtering in her chest with panic. Prowl was the first to grunt in pain, and a great earthquake shook under her feet as they crashed to the ground. She stumbled before finding her balance and she bolted from the mess hall, worried out of her mind.<p>

Ignoring any of the soldiers who called out or waved at her, Miko rushed to hangar E as fast as she could, sweating in the heat of the day. She exploded into the main Autobot hanger, crying out, "Optimus! Optimus! Help, please! They're fighting!"

The great Prime turned with a step towards her. "Miko? Who is fighting?"

"Prowl and Wheeljack!" she gasped. "Please! You've got to come quick!"

Optimus hummed lowly and transformed down into his alternate mode, and on his heels went Ratchet in case either of them had really hurt each other, and then, Elita for good measure. Elita stopped to pick up Miko, allowing the worried human to jump into her front seat.

The crashes, grunts and growls were already in the thick of it by the time they arrived on the scene. Energon and pieces of shattered glass already covered the floor they had progressed in the fight so quickly, and one of Prowl's door wings was partially disconnected. Several dents already covered them, as well as split, bleeding lips sported from the both of them.

Optimus transformed up, hulking in the room. "Wheeljack! Prowl! Stand down!"

Prowl jolted, as if just realizing what he was doing, and the instant he stopped, Wheeljack slugged him so hard he felled the bot to the ground with a thunderous crash. Before he could do anything more, Optimus grabbed his shoulder and slung him back so far he tripped backwards and landed on his aft. Wheeljack rolled back up to his peds, sucking on his split lip and spitting the glob on the ground.

"C'mon, you want some of this, Prime? I've been spoiling for a good fight!"

Ratchet transformed up in a snap, gaping. "Is that . . . SYNTHETIC energon?"

Finally, everything in the room seemed to pause save for Wheeljack and Prowl's labored breaths. Wheeljack bared his denta, backing away, feeling cornered by all of the bots that had their sights set on him and the green energon he leaked. "The frag's synthetic energon?" he snarled.

"Clearly what's been causing you such aggression," Ratchet said, and Wheeljack stiffened, backing away and keeping his optics on the doctor. "How long have you been under the effects of Synthetic energon?"

"The green stuff?" he asked harshly, ready to bolt from the room. The only problem was, all those Autobots were in the way, pinning him in, especially the fragging torturer. "About a week?"

Ratchet gaped. Finally, he snapped his jaw up so he wouldn't catch flies, glancing up to Optimus and saying, "We saw what just TWO doses did to me, Optimus, there's no telling how that's effected his processor, and he was already aggressive enough without it—"

"Would you tell me what in Pit is in my systems," Wheeljack growled, "instead of talking about me like I'm some lab rat! What's wrong with the slag?"

Ratchet frowned at him, and he scowled back. "Wheeljack, unrefined versions of Synthetic energon provide a greater energon efficiency, but it corrupts the user's personality. It causes aggression, makes you faster, and stronger, but—"

"Greater energon efficiency?" he interrupted with a snap. "That's not what's happening to me."

Ratchet blinked. "I'm . . . sorry?"

Wheeljack scowled. "That might have been true at first, but I've burned through my latest dose in less than a couple days, and you know as well as I do that I haven't done a damn strenuous thing to burn through my energon that quickly. It's corroding my energon transfusion capacitor. I'm not processing my energon right."

Ratchet frowned as Prowl nursed his lip, tapping his mouth in thought. "But that can't be . . . No, maybe you are processing it right, but perhaps the unstable formula is corroding your transfusion capacitor! Yes, that has to be it." Ratchet snapped, and he took a step forward. "The Synthen is making you hyper-aggressive, Wheeljack, I—"

"Stay back!" Wheeljack barked harshly, backing away until he almost backed into the vandalized wall. His servos trembled against his will as he stared at the doctor with no small amount of alarm. "You keep your hands off of me!"

Ratchet paused. "Wheeljack, we need to get that energon out of your systems pronto."

"You lay a hand on me," he growled dangerously, "and I won't hesitate to rip your spark out, got it?"

There was a pause that sunk in the room. Finally, a small voice ventured, "Wheeljack . . . Ratchet's not going to hurt you."

"You don't know a damn thing!" he snapped at Miko before he could stop himself. She winced, and Wheeljack winced too when she took cover in Elita's hand. He trembled, hating that he was so scared of the doctor.

Finally, Ratchet huffed, "Wheeljack, if you won't let me do it, then fine, but you need to purge."

He narrowed his red optics. "Yeah? You think I'm gonna do that?"

Ratchet narrowed his optics back. "You can purge nicely, or I can make you bleed it out."

Before anyone else could do or say anything, Optimus suddenly pounced. Wheeljack shouted, backing away, but his back hit the wall, and Optimus's hand slammed into his shoulder, pinning him there. Before he could react, Optimus swung and nailed Wheeljack hard in the gut, so much so that the bot immediately gagged.

When he only gagged, Optimus hit him again in the gut, and Wheeljack choked, unwillingly beginning to purge the Synthetic energon from his systems. Optimus let him drop with a thump on the ground, and Wheeljack gagged, choking up another round of Synthetic energon as his hands scrabbled at the ground, optics glitching in pain.

Miko watched pale-faced as her guardian struggled, a small pool of sickly green energon at his peds. His servos shook as he roughly wiped the back of his mouth, glaring up at the Prime that assaulted him.

He nodded graciously, asking, "How are you feeling, Wheeljack?"

He bared his denta. "Like I'm gonna make you regret that—"

Before he even had the chance to finish his threat, the Prime socked him even harder in the gut, and this time the reaction of throwing up was much easier after the first two times. Humiliatingly, he purged from between his lips again, heaving with the effort and feeling twice as worse as before. When the episode passed, he heard Optimus's voice again.

"Wheeljack, please. Your stubbornness may hold no bounds, but when it comes to medical situations, Ratchet will always prevail and get what he wants. If you do not purge willingly, you may not be able to move by the time I am done with you."

Wheeljack's servos shook, and he coughed deeply, warnings flickering past his optics that he was at 10% already. Finally, he rasped, "Stop. It's gone. 10% left, I swear."

He still flinched when the Prime reached down to him, but the Prime's gentle hands just took him beneath his pits, helping him to his peds. Feeling sluggish, Wheeljack's hands fumbled for a grasp on Optimus's arm, feeling a bit overcharged because he couldn't seem to get his peds beneath him.

"All right. Bring him here, Optimus, he needs some fresh energon."

Wheeljack reacted violently. He dug in his heels, straining against the Prime as he cried, "No! Please, don't let him do anything to me! I won't go through that again! I won't! I'll kill myself before I let him touch me again!"

Everything stilled. Optimus kept his grip firm on the struggling Decepticon, and Wheeljack just stared in horror at Ratchet, trembling. Finally, Optimus lifted his optics to Ratchet, saying softly, "I know this is your domain, Ratchet, but I need to ask you to leave."

A flicker of hurt chased its way across Ratchet's face. Then, as quick as it came it was gone, and he said strictly, "All right, but keep me notified on his condition! Purging the bulk of the Synthen will help temper his aggression, but that last little bit will have to dilute over the days before it's finally all gone." He hesitated a moment more, frowning at Wheeljack, and finally, he turned and left the premises.

Wheeljack's shaking slowly stopped without Ratchet in the room, and Optimus vented in helpless frustration at the confusing events the day had yielded. "Prowl," he stated to the silently waiting mech, "Please escort yourself to Ratchet's medical berth." The police car gave a yielding nod to the Prime, and turned, walking out rather abashedly. Optimus turned his optics to his spark mate. "Elita, please bring Miko."

Wheeljack swallowed. Her? Why her? He felt weird enough with her around . . . But he didn't have the time or effort to fight it. Instead, he went quietly, subdued and hurting. When Optimus brought him into the main hangar, Wheeljack sank heavily on the ground, too tired and sluggish to do anything more. Elita sat Miko down by his side, sensing he wasn't going to do anything, and she touched Optimus's arm.

"Please excuse me. I need to find Arcee."

Optimus just nodded, and she pressed a passing smooch on his lips before she went on her way. The Prime squatted before him, extending the energon cube his way.

"Drink."

Though he was so low on energon his hands shook, Wheeljack reached out and took the cube, sipping it gingerly so he wouldn't upset his tanks and purge again. Miko came over and sat by his side quietly. When Optimus saw he was quietly placated, he saw it fit to leave the two with each other.

Wheeljack was over halfway through his energon cube before he heard her say anything.

"Wheeljack . . . Why are you afraid of Ratchet?"

His hand nearly crushed the cube he gripped it so tight. "That kind of stuff isn't mean for audios like yours."

She paused. Then, even softer than before, "The torture chamber, right?"

Wheeljack winced in remembrance, a shiver running up his back strut. "How did you know that?" he finally rasped.

She didn't answer. Instead, on his right hand, Miko touched his pinkie finger and ring finger. Wheeljack's vents hitched when she looked up at him, and he knew with one look in those brown eyes that she knew.

He jerked his servo away, more than a little unnerved by her. "How do you know that?" he whispered roughly, almost trembling in her presence.

She just looked away, curling up in a ball and saving him from having to look at her.

"You told me."

* * *

><p>"Arcee?"<p>

She jerked when she heard the commander, and she quickly tried to wipe her optics, but knew she had failed when those ped steps stilled. Frantically, she tried to cover up the paint markings on her, but it was no use. Her face burned in shame, and she looked down at the floor of the wash racks.

A soft sigh split the silence. "I can contact Agent Fowler for you to get some fresh paint and touch up."

Arcee nodded, unable to say anything more to her commander. Elita One vented, brows pinching as she looked at her. "Arcee . . . What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" she burst too quickly to be believable. She knew it the instant the word was out of her mouth. She cringed, dropping her optics.

Elita One hesitated, and she stepped into the burning hot water with her, saying, "I'm sure we can cover up most of the damage with the leftover paint Wheeljack and Miko left behind."

Arcee just shook her head, turning her head away when Elita tried to look her in the optics. Hesitating to touch her comfortingly, Elita finally murmured, "Arcee. Something's changed. What happened to you?"

This time, her vocals seized with passions she tried to hide. "N-Nothing," she lied straight through her teeth, wincing as she said so. "It's nothing . . ."

"Arcee, don't make me order you to tell me. You know as well as I do that something's different. Now, what happened?"

Arcee shivered beneath the hot water, trying to work out the words that entitled the surgery equivalent to mind rape. "A—Shockwave, he . . . it was . . . a . . ." and her voice dipped to a raspy whisper, "a cortical psychic patch."

Elita's optics widen, and she suddenly came to attention. "Arcee, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because—" She choked off her words before she started, and she turned her back fully on her commanding officer, shaking so hard she couldn't see straight. "Because I—I can't remember you!"

Again, Elita felt shock slap her in the face. Arcee shook her head vigorously, saying quickly, "I mean, I know your my commander, but I don't remember anything about you, anything that happened with us, I don't remember anything other than the fact that you're my commander. I—I haven't even told Optimus about this, only Ratchet, doctor patient confidentiality . . ."

It took the commander a moment to find her glossia. "Arcee . . . Was—He wasn't able to fix you?"

"No," Arcee snapped more defensively than she meant to. She drew in a ragged breath, holding her crossed arms tightly to her chassis. "The memories are corrupt. They're gone. Permanently."

A heavy silence settled between them, cut only by the pelting of drops of water on the shower floor. The femme commander sighed, pinching her brow before rubbing a hand over her face. "Arcee . . . I don't think running from the problem is going to solve it." Arcee tensed when she put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn't move away. "You've been avoiding me quite well lately, and now I know why, but . . . Just because you don't remember, doesn't mean we have to forget. Arcee—Arcee, look at me."

Reluctantly, the smaller femme turned around looking up to her commander. Elita's optics softened. "I think it's time we started again. From now. We're building our relationship again from here, regardless of the past, all right?" She gathered a brief nod. Elita smiled. "Good. Now, as a start, I think it might be good for you to explain why you're all alone in the showers crying and scrubbing at your arms."

A broken look filled her optics. Before Elita could react, Arcee suddenly whirled away, bursting thick with tears, "Primus, I—It's true! He does own me! I am his property!" Elita's optics lifted, and then her brows darkened, thinking of how crassly Wheeljack had been treating her, but her next words nullified that worry. "I gave him nearly every part of myself! All but my spark—and now he's not the same, and I'm so afraid he's never going to remember and he's never going to be the mech I fell in love with!"

Elita's optics widened. She took a step forward, repeating, "Love?"

Arcee choked on a sob, sinking down to the ground. She scratched at her arms, feeling the paint that covered her like the scars of their relationship. "Yes! Yes, I love him! Primus, even when he doesn't remember me, I love him so much . . ." Pleadingly, she looked up to the femme, tears slipping down her cheeks. "He—Elita, he wanted to bond with me and I pushed him away!"

Overcome with wracking sobs, Arcee dropped her face into her palms, consumed with what she had missed out on, and Elita's spark slowly broke. She fell on her knees, pulling the broken femme close as she cried her spark out on a willing shoulder. Elita comforted her softly, soothing her tears with the patience of years, spark swelling as she felt like this had been exactly where they had left off when she had last seen the femme.

When her sobs died down to small system hiccups, Elita finally vented softly, saying, "Don't you worry, Arcee. He'll remember."

She shivered. "How do you know?" she whispered.

"Trust me," Elita murmured. "I know. Love is a powerful thing." She rubbed the femme's back, sighing. "Arcee, just . . . promise me you'll be careful, all right?"

She lifted the femme's helm by the chin, and Arcee's lips trembled. "Y-yes ma'am."

Elita kept her serious blue optics on the younger femme. After a minute, she finally nodded. "All right." She hugged her once more, telling her, "Now stop those tears and save them for when you actually need them. Wheeljack is going to be just fine. All right?"

Arcee gave a small smile. "All right."

* * *

><p>Miko snuck out. She went out on the far end of the entire military base and leaned her back against the far hangar, staring out over the dead, unforgiving wasteland of the Nevada desert.<p>

Then, she curled up and buried her face into her knees and cried.

She was left alone for quite some time, wallowing in her own misery. She was tired. Worn. She hurt. Everything. She just couldn't do this anymore, she needed someone to hold her, and Wheeljack just wouldn't do that, and she couldn't go confide in Twin Twist, he needed HER to be strong for HIM.

It took her a moment to hear the soft sigh and, "C'mon now, quiet those tears."

Miko gasped, jerking her head up and pressing her back against the wall when she suddenly saw the chief sitting in his red truck. Her rapidly beating heart sputtered in her chest. "Who are you?" she asked, so curious that she was actually able to wipe her tears away.

He shrugged, giving her a lopsided smile. "Does it really matter?"

Miko blinked wet lashes at him. "I guess not," she finally muttered. "But . . ." She looked up with faint hopefulness, biting her lip. "Are you . . . ? You're always there for me and Wheeljack. Kinda like a guardian angel. You're not . . . Bulkhead, are you?"

His hardened face softened and he sighed before opening the squeaky door and stepping out. He walked up to her before kneeling in front of her, tipping his cowboy hat up and steely brown eyes fixating on her.

"As much as you might wish it," he said gently, "I'm not Bulkhead." Her face fell. "And I'm afraid the honorary title of a guardian angel shouldn't belong to me either . . ." His boot scuffed through the dust as he shifted positions. "But I am there for a lot of people. However, this case is a little special."

She sniffed a little, rubbing her eyes. "What? What are you talking about?"

The chief chuckled, weather lines of his face crinkling into a smile. "Well, I'm not actually here to comfort you, darlin'. I'm here to tell you to let someone else comfort you for a change."

She wiped under her nose, frowning at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He grinned then, white teeth flashing. He took off his hat, plopping it on her head. "I guess you'll find out real soon," he told her, and then, Miko's eyes widened as he suddenly blew away in a dust, truck and all, like he was made of sand.

Miko stared, cowboy hat left on her head even though she had just seen with her own eyes the man and his truck fade to nothing. Then, hardly a second or two later, she heard someone calling her name.

Her face grew unamused by this chief character very quickly.

"Miko! Miko! Where are you?"

He thought he was being funny, didn't he? Sending her the one possible person in the world she didn't want to show her face to right now, not when her face was still splotchy with tears, not when her nose was still running. She sniffed quickly, wiping her eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to cover up her emotions as he rounded the corner.

"Miko! Mi—Miko! There you are!"

Miko pulled the hat down low, refusing to look at him as he came over and sat down next to her. "Miko? You okay?"

"I'm fine," she snapped at Jack before she could stop. "Leave me alone."

"Hey, ease up," he said, frowning at her. "I'm here to help."

"Well I don't want your help!" she said snidely, trying to cover up how hurt she was. "So go away."

Jack's brows pinched. "Now with a tone like that, you're telling me you're anything but fine."

"Jack," she growled, "I'm fine. I just want to be alone for a little bit. Now leave me alone."

Jack shook his head. "No can do, Miko. I'm not leaving."

She turned angry eyes on him. "Well why not!"

He reached up, tipping the hat back so he could see her face. "Because I know you're hurting," he said quietly. Her breath hitched. "Look, it's okay to cry. I mean, it's cool you're being strong for Twin Twist and all because he needs you, but . . . you can cry too. No one else will know, and I won't hold it against you."

Miko's heart seized. Those were almost a duplicate of the words she had said to Wheeljack after he almost died trying to take revenge on Dreadwing. At this point, it didn't matter if the chief had asked her to let him in or not. She was a goner.

With a cry, she threw herself into Jack's arms, and she bawled her eyes out on him. She felt his arms wrap around her, quiet and comforting, not judgmental, and so she just buried her face into his shoulder, taking comfort in him. The cowboy hat fell off her head, and it landed in the dirt as Jack held her close, rocking her slightly, rubbing his hand up and down her back.

She cried for everything now that she had finally let her walls fall. She cried for Topspin. She cried for Wheeljack. She even cried for Arcee. She cried for not being quick enough to grab Bulky before she lost him out there somewhere. She cried for herself. She cried herself dry of tears until she soaked Jack's shirt.

Finally, as her weeping dwindled off to hiccups, Jack sighed, not knowing what to do to comfort her more. Optimus always knew what to say in these situations . . .

He blinked, catching sight of a glimpse of white in the cowboy hat. A handkerchief? Reaching for it, he swallowed, taking it out of the hat and handing it to Miko. "Hey . . . Hey. Here."

Miko's shaking fingers took the handkerchief, and she asked, "Since when do you carry a handkerchief? That's so much like an old man."

He gave a small laugh. "I don't, as far as I know . . ." He chafed her arm, kissing the side of her head. "Feel any better?" he asked softly.

She blew her nose. "Sorta . . ."

Jack sighed, hugging her close. "He's gonna be just fine, Miko. Trust me. You know Ratchet's going to take good care of him. We all are."

Miko tried to turn away then. "I suppose you don't know what happened today . . ."

"Yeah, I know." She looked up. A slight smile tipped his mouth up. "And saw that gorgeous painting of me." She blushed a little now, feeling a bit childish for doing in when if he had seen it at any other time she would have been making fun of him. "And I'm sure no matter what, Wheeljack knows Ratchet would never hurt him. Deep down, Wheeljack's still the same. It's just going to take some time. All right? It's gonna be all right."

Miko nodded, sniffling on more. "Okay . . ."

After a moment, color in the hat caught Jack's eye. This time, it was yellow, a simple, bright yellow spring flower. He picked it up out of hat, clearing his throat nervously. "Uh, Miko . . ."

"Yeah?"

He leaned her back gently, showing her the flower. Her brows puckered. "That's pretty. Where . . .?"

He just grinned. "My secret," he said, and he reached up, sticking it in her hair. Then, he stood, fumbling a moment in his pocket. "Hold on . . ." Miko stared at him as he turned up his phone's ring to loud, and then, after a moment, piano notes sounded out a familiar melody.

Miko gave him a look. "I can't believe you have that on your phone."

Jack just blushed some, giving an awkward smile and extending his hand. "Well, um . . . Miko . . . You said I owe you a prom, and uh, I know it's not much but . . . may I have this dance?"

_"I still hear your voice when you sleep next to me . . . I still feel your touch in my dream . . . Forgive me my weakness but I don't know why . . . Without you it's hard to survive . . ."_

Miko pursed her lips, making a small face, but finally took his hand. "Okay . . . But just because I like you . . ."

Jack laughed a little at her response, pulling her close for their slow dance. Miko rested her head on his shoulder, taking comfort in him, a little peeved that the dumb chief had been right, but really happy she had let go.

At their feet, forgotten, the chief's hat blew away to dust in a small gust of wind.

_"Cause every time we touch I get this feeling, and every time we kiss I swear I could fly. Can't you feel my heart beat fast? I want this to last; need you by my side. Cause every time we touch I feel the static and every time we kiss I reach for the sky. Can't you feel my heart beat so? I can't let you go. Want you in my life . . ."_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Song used: Cascada_"Everytime We Touch (slow)"**

**And I think that's the last of asshole Wheeljack now that the Synthen's out of his system. Though I DO have a plot twist coming up later...**


	56. Intimidation

**Author's Note:**

**Hello! :) This chapter was being a butt to write, and while I'm not so sure about it as a whole, I do like smaller bits here and there that to me make the rest of it up.**

**Much love to my newest fav/followers Ultranova Prime, Sinead Rivka, Legacy Now, OptimusSTAR, and SHADOWPRIESTESS16! 3**

**And especially to my lovely reviewers: Guest, Katie Gibbs, Lewascan2, strikehead1454, OptimusSTAR, Sinead Rivka, BossBot97, Winterbornbree, writergurl616, Kuurankukka, LynxbyLynx, Grace, Sounddrive, Foxbear, Spiritstrike, and Fanatic97! Seriously, I LOVE it when you guys review, you have no idea how it empowers me to keep going!**

**Oh, and if you read my story "Fraternizing" ... you might just recognize the special and fun group that makes a cameo in the beginning! (which may very well make some more cameos because I like them a lot)**

_**"Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need  
>Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why<strong>_

_**If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?**_  
><em><strong>If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?"<strong>_

**_Clarity__Zedd**

* * *

><p><em>"So how are you feeling about everyone now, Wheeljack? Not wanting to kill everyone, hopefully!"<em>

_ " . . . Yeah. I still want to kill all of you, Babe."_

_ " . . . But . . . I thought . . ."_

_ "It's clearly his processor, Miko. He must be wired wrong, programmed to think that we're his enemies—"_

_ "You can keep your hands to yourself, Doc! Don't get near me!"_

_ "My apologies, Wheeljack. But you really must learn to trust me long enough so that we can figure out what's wrong with you."_

_ "I'm telling you there's nothing wrong with me!"_

_ "Then why are you denying it so much?"_

It had been after those words that Wheeljack had to leave the hangar for some fresh air. He felt stifled by all those mushy Autobots that seemed to think he was one of them. All he knew, everything that had happened in his life—none of their stories about him made sense. On top of that, it bothered him to be in the same room with them BECAUSE his programming called for him to attack and kill them, and his spark didn't agree with the thought, so it created a painful juxtaposition for him to fight.

Rubbing his forehead with a frustrated vent, Wheeljack tried to get rid of the splitting processor ache he had. He walked aimlessly around the human base until he heard a yelp and a sharp, "Watch where you're going—!"

Wheeljack stopped, turning and looking down on the sandy brown-haired human that was gaping up at him. "You got a problem?" he growled mildly, too exhausted with everything to even care that much. When he caught the whole group of humans staring at him, he scowled. "What're you looking at?"

The one with the moustache blinked and gave a slight shrug. "You."

"Is that a scar on your lip?"

His optics flicked down to the blond one who had suddenly taken in his looks. A girl? Hm. Two girls, seven men. Wheeljack frowned, crossing his arms. "What do you want?" he asked collectively.

The first one grinned, freckles and all. "Dude! You're the one that messed up the mess hall!"

Someone in the back grumbled about their lunch being spilled, but Wheeljack just blinked on in mild interest at the humans that alternately gaped at him or grinned. The one with the black moustache stepped forward, extending his hand. "The name's Fernando 'D.O.A.' Martinez. You?"

He grunted, begrudgingly taking the human's hand. "Wheeljack."

The first elbowed his way to the front with a self-righteous grin. "I'm the best one of this group, man. Ryan 'Timber' Davis in the house!"

The girl with the short brown hair sticking out of her cap grabbed his ear, yanking him away while he gave a yelp. "I apologize for you having to put up with him," she said with a long suffering roll of her eyes. "I'm Casey 'Casino' Duff. And you—" and she turned on Timber with a hike of her brow. "If you don't sit down and shut up I swear I'll gamble you right out of every pair of underwear you own and string them up as a kite."

Timber just grinned. "Aw man, Casino, I didn't realize you wanted in my pants THAT badly—!"

Another man grabbed him, clamping his hand over his big mouth. "Bob 'Prophet' Bailey at your service," he said to Wheeljack.

A few more men quickly cycled out their names. "Shawn 'Angel' White."

"James 'Clothesline' McQueen."

"Igor Popov, affectionately known as 'Iggy Pop'."

"Carter 'Double Down' Jenkins."

"Wait a minute—" and Clothesline frowned, taking off his cap to wipe his bald head of sweat. "I thought we weren't allowed to see these guys?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "Guess that protocol's shot to Pit."

Prophet grinned, saying, "Oh well. I don't know how they managed to hide giant robots from us anyways."

He rolled his red optics. "We're not robots. That's implying I'm nothing but a machine. I am a Cybertronian from the planet of Cybertron, and I have a name, and I think my own thoughts."

"All right then, Cybertronians."

Boobie snapped her fingers. "So if you have a name, and you think your own thoughts, I suppose you have your own sex, right?"

The ensuing sound that rose up from the group was just an incomprehensible mass of groans, swears, laughter, and eye rolls at Boobie's forwardness. Wheeljack just shrugged. "Course. Though if you're wanting the whole down low on alien robot sex, you better ask the commander and his mate in there," and he jerked his thumb vaguely to hangar E. "They're the ones getting kinky and making echoes in the canyons."

Boobie made an effort to go off—whether real or faked, Wheeljack wasn't quite sure—but Prophet grabbed her and yanked her back, saying, "DOWN Bessy!"

That comment resulted in a hoard of laughter to which Boobie shouted something at Prophet and lunged. He easily fought her off as Double Down and Angel separated them, but he received a sharp jab in the ribs from Casino who tipped her hat to Boobie.

Wheeljack grinned. Huh. There was something he liked about these idiots. "Are you guys always like this?"

"Nah," Double Down said with a wave of his hand. "Just Boobie."

She pursed her lips at him. "I don't think that's what he was talking about."

D.O.A. shrugged before anyone else could get a word in edgewise. "If you're asking if we're generally a band of insane misfits, then yes, I believe you're on the right track."

Wheeljack rolled his optics, jerking a thumb vaguely back to the base. "No better than the ones in there."

When Iggy Pop reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, Angel scowled, swatting at him. "Put those away."

"Back off man, it's just a light."

"You DO know how bad those are for you?"

Iggy Pop deliberately lit the cigarette, took a deep breath, and blew the smoke in Angel's face. "Stow it," he said as the medic of the team coughed and glared. The American-born Russian jerked a thumb to the man in white. "He's got a superiority complex with his medic powers."

Wheeljack snorted. "Sounds like a certain someone I know . . ."

"Hello there! Oh look, more humans!"

Wheeljack groaned audibly hearing the one bot he really didn't want to see. Well, he didn't want to see ANYONE right now, and the humans were once more amazed as a pink femme sauntered up with a smile. "Hello there, everyone! How are you, Wheeljack?"

He vented, rolling his optics heavenward. "Go away."

"Oh, that well, I see?" His jaw ground in irritation at her infallible cheerful demeanor. "Actually, Miko wanted to see you, so I brought her along with me."

Wheeljack looked over, startled, and the small human waved tentatively to him. His spark did an uncertain flip in his chassis, and he grunted, crossing his arms almost peevishly to himself.

"Making some new friends, I see," Elita One continued cheerfully. She knelt, smiling at the humans that all introduced themselves eagerly to her, enthralled with the mechanisms they were supposed to be fighting alongside. "My name is Elita One," she told them.

Wheeljack jerked a thumb to her as she sat Miko on the ground. "This one's the commander's mate," he said off handedly.

He heard the tell-tale gasp of Boobie, and she pushed her way to the front of the pack. "Wheeljack here tells me you and your mate got kinky in the canyons, and I've GOTTA know, how do alien robots get it on? I think I get the edge on how you guys find each other attractive—" and she jerked her thumb Wheeljack's way, making his brow raise, "because any girl knows that scars on a man is sexy, but you've really got to give me something, please?"

Elita laughed lightly, blushing a little as she put her hands to her cheeks. "Oh my, um . . . Well, curiosity knows no bounds, does it? If you'd really like to know, we can speak about it later when there aren't youngling ears around," and she gave a small gesture to Miko whose face was stuck in a pinched position, halfway between green and white.

Miko held up her hands, one finger up. "I swear, if ANYONE starts talking about crap like that around me again, I am going to break something. Preferably of Ratchet's."

Elita chuckled with the humans, and Wheeljack rocked back on his heels, stifling a grin. "So who are you?" D.O.A. asked, moustache quirking up. "You're quite the little spit fire."

"I'm Miko!" she said. She jerked her thumb over to Wheeljack, and he tried to keep himself from walking away from this conversation. "He's my guardian!"

Timber grinned at her. "Well, ain't nobody going to mess with you with a ringer like him!"

She grinned back, fisting her hand and shaking it at him. "I'm quite the ringer myself!"

The soldiers all laughed, clearly taking great delight in the young Asian. Casino smiled at her, rolling a pair of dice between her fingers, and she said, "Well, you can come see us anytime, sweetheart, and we'll be sure to give you some combat lessons."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh man, that'd be AWESOME!" She pumped up her fists, exclaiming, "I'm not too bad myself right now! I've played a lot of wrestling video games, and boxing games, so I know the moves! Drop kicks, flying tackles, the Shoryuken uppercut! I can hold my own in a fight!"

Casino laughed, grinning with short brown hair sticking out of her cap. "Well, we're going to turn you into a fighting machine by the time we're done," she told her. "You won't ever have boy problems again."

"Commander!"

Wheeljack turned his head to see Prowl calling for Elita, and Twin Twist was with him. "We need to head out!" he called, and obviously, that was his bidding to get Elita to come on. He walked off with Twin Twist in tow, and Elita sighed.

"I'm afraid we've gotten a bit off track, Elita finally said. She stood, turning towards Wheeljack. "You do remember the Predacon bone Optimus brought in the other day?"

Wheeljack grunted. "Sure." And the Decepticons were cloning these beasts into more Predacons, a highly vindictive and feat of science that Wheeljack was secretly wishing he was a part of. To be able to breed those kind of beasts in the laboratory . . It sent his protoform prickling with delighted shivers. That was the kind of science he enjoyed, other than weapons of mass destruction!

"Well, satellite surveillance has picked up Decepticon activity in two places, my group heading out to the Hiberties Bluffs in Scotland." She paused, and her optics softened. "Optimus told me to take the Wreckers with me before he caught himself and assigned me Twin Twist and Prowl. However . . ." She arched a brow at him. "As you are a Wrecker, I'm inclined to take you with me."

Wheeljack narrowed his red optics. "I'm not a Wrecker," he stated flatly.

"You used to be," she replied candidly.

"Not anymore."

She sighed and gave him that look that made him want to squirm. "Then out of context of where your allegiances lie. You are desperately stir crazy, and you are still looking for a fight, albeit less inclined than you were before. I think it would be a good change of pace for you instead of being locked down in the base, and let you vent some of your frustrations on the enemy. Will you lend your skills to me?"

Wheeljack pressed his lips, gauging the femme that stood taller than himself, slim and lean, but deadly. He huffed. "Fine."

Elita smiled instantly. "Good! Then we need to head out promptly. Grab anything you need and report to the ship."

He arched a brow as she turned and began to walk off. "That's it? No telling Optimus?"

"He already knows," she told him cheekily. "Spark bond. He's telling me to be careful, but," and she turned back with a smile, "I'm not worried."

Wheeljack suspiciously watched her head off. He didn't know what to make of the Prime's spark mate. Since he already had his grenade strapped on his hip and his katanas on his back, he assumed he had nothing else to take and began to head off—until nothing else to take became something else.

"Yo."

He stopped, turning around hearing Miko's voice.

"Can I come with?"

He took one glance at her and thought—_what the hell._

"Why not?"

* * *

><p>He probably owed Elita One.<p>

He probably owed her a lot.

After all, Prowl had nearly blown a gasket when he had learned Wheeljack was coming with them, much less the axel he had twisted when he realized he had let Miko tag along for the ride. Elita One had defended her decision to bring him along, and had even twisted his decision to bring Miko along into a plausible half truth, saving his skin from Prowl's wrath twice.

Though, she HAD swatted his servos when he had wanted to drive the ship.

But when Wheeljack found himself getting chased by the Predacon he was supposed to be aligned with?

He was about fed up with this crap. He ought to be on the winning team instead of scavenging at the bottom with the Autobots.

However, in regards to Prowl, Wheeljack found himself getting very tired of the tactical advisor very quickly. He and Prowl had needled each other so much that Elita had ordered Prowl to take point and Wheeljack to bring up the rear, with her in between him and Twin Twist to minimize in fighting.

_"And you will," Prowl interjected smoothly to the human desperately wanting to help. "Your mission: reach Ultra Magnus's ship and contact Optimus Prime."_

He even soothed Miko better than he could! Why he was jealous about that, Wheeljack could never know, but taking on the Predacon? Ridiculous. They got their afts handed to them by that dragon.

Technically, Wheeljack was the one that dropped the ball on that, but if they couldn't defeat the Predacon because of its impenetrable scales, how else would they defeat it, but from the inside? Wheeljack groaned, pushing the collapsed rocks from atop him. He rolled a shoulder, saying conversationally, "Well, that didn't go exactly as planned."

To make matters worse, guess who immediately jumped on his case? "That's because any first cycle cadet knows better than to detonate a grenade in a confined space!" Prowl snapped evenly, cold blue optics flashing as he stalked up to the Decepticon that was on his last straw.

Wheeljack felt his lip pull up into a defensive snarl. "Even if I intended the CONFINED SPACE to the belly of the beast!"

"I have doubts you ever intended something as gallant as that," Prowl replied coolly, and Wheeljack felt his hackles rise.

Elita stepped between them, blue optics cutting. "Stand down," she ordered firmly in a tone eerily similar to the Prime. "Both of you."

"No," Wheeljack growled. He pushed past her to confront the tactical advisor. After getting his energon rushing, Synthen or not, he was agitated, lost and confused. He hated everything about his position—or condition, however you wanted to look at it—and his meager self-control was running thin. "Tight Aft here still thinks I'm working for the Decepticons, is that it?" he snapped. Prowl carefully hid all facial emotions, but his icy blue optics glared contemptuously down at him. Wheeljack felt his servos fist. For some reason . . .

His distrust hurt.

"If I were working for the Decepticons, I wouldn't have stuck around!" Wheeljack snarled angrily. "You know it as well as I do! If I was going to backstab you, I would have already done it!"

"Perhaps you are only waiting for just the right moment," Prowl said stiffly.

He felt his body hinging up to attack the conceitedly smug commander, but Twin Twist's flat voice suddenly cut in, "Respectfully, the Predacon is loose. And Miko is out there ALONE." Without even waiting for anyone's say, Twin Twist ran back into the tunnels, determined to get back to the ship as fast as he possibly could.

Wheeljack's lip curled at Prowl. "Permission to give backup, SIR?" He snorted and held out his servos, wrists together. "Or am I being taken prisoner?"

He saw Prowl's hand twitch with the urge to put him in shackles before Elita One's voice cut in. "Permission granted, and no, you will NOT be taken prisoner," and she turned her glare on Prowl. "I don't have time for a proper dressing-down now, but you will put aside your differences or so help me I will have you BOTH thrown into the brig until you learn to get along."

She gauged them for half a second more as they stared each other down before saying, "Now. Let's roll." And she transformed down, giving both mechs no other option but the follow.

And, when Wheeljack got back to the ship with the rest of them, he was pleasantly and unpleasantly surprised to see Miko IN the Apex Armor, kicking the scrap out of Starscream and two of his seekers. Was he surprised? Yes. Was he proud? Inexplicably, yes. Was he jealous?

Yes.

He had basically mucked up everything from the beginning of this mission, garnering Prowl's wrath, and then the real kicker, that stunt with the grenade, having meant well or not. He was vaguely aware of rushing out with the others, Screamer fleeing with his cronies, but he was just tired. Tired of trying to be an Autobot when he wasn't and all he lusted for was their energon.

Fighting his programming felt illogical, stupid, and it only hurt his processor. Especially in the scuffle outside of the mine with the Vehicons, and he had to forcibly restrain himself from running Twin Twist through the back. Whenever his energon rushed, he felt it, like a tingle in the back of his processor to make them suffer for the things they had done to him and his friends. Not to mention, he wasn't exactly opened into their fold with open arms. He was mistrusted by them all.

Except . . . Perhaps one . . .

She pointed. "They got away with the bone."

His spark sunk. He didn't know why. "Hey." She turned, and his lips tipped up sadly. "You brought you're A game, Babe. Like a true Wrecker." He punched her lightly, affectionately in the shoulder, making a glow overtake her face at his praise. For some reason . . . that hurt even more.

Miko just stuck with him. It bothered him how she trusted him so much and cared so much about him. It didn't make sense for her to care about a Decepticon. His optics flicked up to Elita. She made him uncomfortable too. Everything about her kindness and compassion set him on edge. And Twin Twist. He avoided the Wrecker's optics, unwilling to look into those hollow eyes and see the damage he had done to him. Instead, by avoiding his gaze, he hit Prowl's. Judgmental. Critical. Aloof. He knew it well.

Wheeljack vented softly, looking back down on Miko. "Look. You're a good kid. But I'm done. With all of this." His spark pained as something slowly broke apart in her eyes. He looked up to Prowl, gaze flattening. "I don't belong here. You know it, and I know it too."

With that, Wheeljack turned from them, transforming down and driving off. Miko's eyes widened, and she took two steps after him. "Wheeljack—Wheeljack wait! Don't leave me, please!" She gaped in horror as he ignored her, and then, there was anger. So much anger. She had seen his looks close off at the sight of the mech. She whirled on Prowl, screaming at him, "This is all your fault!"

His optics widened in genuine shock, and he took a step back when she charged at him. Twin Twist grabbed her before she could get her hands on the tactical advisor, and hot tears stung her eyes as she reached her hands out at him. "You did this to him! You drove him away! I was just starting to get my guardian back and you drove him off! You and your rules and—and your crusty-aft . . . chutzpah derision! I hate you! You—MONGREL!"

Prowl actually flinched back a step, blue optics wide but steady on the human ravaged with emotion. Hate . . . Yes, he had had mechs dislike him, some dislike him quite intently, some to the point of wanting to maul him, but such unadulterated hate? No. He had never had someone HATE him before with such an intensity that he could feel it in the air. What boggled his processor was that he had done nothing in animosity towards the young human. That he had hurt Wheeljack meant he had hurt her, and he couldn't wrap his processor around their astonishing bond. But that pure, passionate, primal hate . . . It . . .

It hurt.

His door wings drooped for a slight moment at the new emotion he hadn't felt for a long, long time, but he straightened his shoulders immediately. He knew he was right. Wheeljack had been a pain from the start. Volatile. Dangerous. Even the slightest of things could make the mech snap and want to attack them, and that was a liability they couldn't have just strolling their base halls. He had already killed one of their own and aspired to take his second half. He had a list of a multitude of other reasons, but for some reason, it felt like he was trying to justify himself.

Twin Twist grunted, locking his knees when Miko wrapped her arms and legs around him, leaving him to struggle to hold up the weight of the Apex Armor. Finally, Elita One sighed, wondering how things had taken such a wrong turn. "All right. Time to load up."

Prowl turned towards Elita One quickly. "Commander," he said quickly, "you can't possibly just let Wheeljack go. He knows the location of our base—"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. She turned a particularly fierce frown on him, and Prowl shrank obediently, feeling like a chastised child. He looked once in the direction Wheeljack had disappeared before resigning himself and following the femme commander into the ship.

Miko tried to wipe her running nose, only for her hand to collide with the helmet of the Apex Armor. With a frustrated growl, she pressed the button, letting the armor shrink back to size and thunk on the ground as she wiped her running nose and eyes. She sniffled as Twin Twist silently picked both her and the armor up, following into the ship and taking his seat in the back.

They took off, heading back to base. Twin Twist cupped Miko in both palms, and finally, she swallowed, composing herself to look up at him. "Twist? Are you all right?" When he just gave a vague shrug, she felt herself worrying even more. "You've been really quiet lately . . ."

Sorrowful optics looked down on her. Finally, his vocalizer cracked open enough to admit on a shameful whisper, "Just missing Spin, and . . . weighing the value of my life."

Miko grabbed his nearest finger fervently. "I need you, Twist. You can't go."

He nodded, an exhausted and sad smile ruefully crossing his features. "I know."

* * *

><p>Wheeljack hadn't gone far before he stalled his engine in the chilly air of Scotland.<p>

He had heard her. Heard her screaming at Prowl. Crying.

Wheeljack growled in frustration.

He was NOT going back to that forsaken place for her.

Night slowly began to fall over Scotland. The sun dipped lower as he stuck around, not hailing the Decepticons, hesitating to hail the Autobots. He was caught at an impasse. And the problem was that he didn't know what to think or believe anymore. He didn't even know himself anymore. He was two people shoved into one body—the Decepticon that was loyal to Megatron and wanted to slaughter the Autobots; the Autobot that cared about Miko?

He growled again in confused anger at himself. But he went ahead and sent the data burst anyway, requesting a ground bridge. It blasted open, and he drove through, absolutely stewing.

"Wheeljack." Oh, great, another one he didn't want to see. "What happened? Where are the others?"

He transformed up, pointedly trying to ignore her, grunting, "Having a swell time taking the long way home in Ultra Magnus's BOAT, I'm sure." And he couldn't help the slightly bitter tone that stung his words. "Miko included."

He jolted when Ratchet suddenly turned to him, asking, "Did you recover the Predacon bone?"

His lip curled and his hands spread for an attack, set on edge at the very sound of the medic's voice. "Sorry, Doc," he shot back a little more forcefully than needed. "The beast hunt kinda imploded on us." Literally. With his own bomb.

"Well, I just got word of another 'Con hot spot," another voice chimed in suddenly, and Wheeljack glanced up at Agent Fowler. "Right outside of Tahos, New Mexico. Since Prime's unit isn't back from oil country . . ."

"Raf," Arcee ordered, "set a bridge for Fowler's coordinates. She looked up at him, and Wheeljack stiffened, "You, with me."

"Not today, all right," he interjected irritably. He had had enough of chum time with the Autobots than to have to deal with her on top of it all.

She brushed by him almost without a second glance, making him twice as uncomfortable. "If YOU'RE all right with sending me out alone."

For some reason, the little accusation in her voice made his protoform prickle with dangerous ire. "Alone's how _I_ prefer to roll," he snarled.

"Wheeljack." He winced at the sharp tone of Ratchet's voice, jerking around to face his former torturer with hackles up high. "You do not want to make me abandon a complex equation to venture outside my comfort zone."

The thinly veiled threat was mild, but it still sent Wheeljack secretly quaking in his boots. Still, he made sure to make sure that they knew his displeasure by groaning a petulant and loud, "FINE." In short, he was only picking the lesser of the two evils. And he was already cursing not having gone back to the Decepticons when he had the chance. He narrowed his optics at Arcee's back. "But in case you haven't figured it out—" and he walked through the bridge with her, "I don't play well with . . . others . . ."

He heard Arcee swear under her breath as they realized they had bridged out right into a booby trap. Great. Some more to beat the absolute ever-loving slag out of.

"Hang tight," he said to Arcee, and before she had time to respond, he grabbed her ped and tossed her high into the air.

Oddly, she didn't miss a beat as they began a smack down to rival all smack downs. She managed to shoot two before she hit the ground, and Wheeljack drew his katanas, hacking and slicing apart the dumb Vehicon troopers with ease. They dispatched the entire squad in less than a minute—it was almost frightening how well they worked together, and seeing the bots knocked out by her fists alone, they met back to back and Wheeljack was prompted to arch his brow and ask, "You sure you weren't a Wrecker?"

Her lips tipped up saucily as she flirted back, "You sure you don't play well with others?"

Keeping his optics level with her, Wheeljack strained to suck in several calming vents to restrain his programming running rampant with different ways to kill her. "You're really tempting me, Angel," he warned her gruffly. He sheathed his katanas, red optics luminous as he stared at her.

She flashed teasing optics at him before leaning closer. "Sure I'm not doing it on purpose?"

Wheeljack's optics narrowed as he began to follow her towards the given coordinates that the Predacon bone was supposed to be buried. "Not sure if you're tempting me to gut you or kiss you," Wheeljack grumbled.

Arcee heard him. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

That coy comment almost infuriated him even more than before. But, he had plenty of time to stew about it along the way and let his anger simmer down. On a scale of who was the hardest to resist killing, he had to say it was Miko, Arcee, and Twin Twist—or Prowl, if he pissed him off enough. It was easiest around Elita One and Bumblebee as he seemed to have little to no preconceived notions about them. And, they didn't press him, unlike the others. For that he was damn grateful.

He just . . . couldn't find a reason to keep himself with the Autobots. He was uncomfortable, not that willingly taken back in the fold—if he had ever been in their fold to begin with—and his programming didn't lie. His memories didn't lie. He knew what had happened with these wretches, why he had left, why he had joined the Decepticons—he knew it all! And against what he knew, he was supposed to just believe the Autobots' words? Word accounted for nothing!

"You're awfully quiet, Wheeljack."

He felt himself tense up at the very sound of her voice in the underground passage. "I've never been one for chit chat," he said off-handedly. Primus, he KNEW he should have taken a bridge back to the Decepticons when he had the chance!

"Let's be real for a second," Arcee said back. "If you really wanted to roll with the Decepticons, you could have hit the open road today, called for a bridge, whatever you wanted. But you didn't. You called for a bridge back to base."

"Hey," Wheeljack snapped down at her, "don't assume you know me!"

"I'm not assuming," she cut in, and he stopped when she stood in front of him, crossing her arms. "You need to understand that just like I'm your property, you're MY property."

Wheeljack scowled, pushing past her. "Is that what this is all about? Still mad about that, huh."

"Yes, but I'm more angry at the fact that it's true than I am about the graffiti." He pointedly ignored her, but she didn't take the clue to shut her mouth. "Now, care to chit chat about what's been bothering you so much?" When he kept giving her the cold shoulder, she grabbed his hand, turning him towards her. "Wheeljack—"

He jerked, knocking her hand away roughly, her touch singeing like fire. "Don't you EVER touch me again," he growled, not liking the way it made his spark respond.

Her stunning blue optics, ringed in a rim of purple, blinked shrewdly at him. "Why?" His spark kicked into overdrive when she stepped closer, bedeviling him. "Something WRONG?"

He bared his denta. "If you want to keep your head attached to your body, I suggest you back off," he hissed back, internal temperatures spiking.

"I make you uncomfortable, don't I?" she needled him again. She took another step forward, and it forced Wheeljack to take a step back. "That's because you know there's more between us than you want to admit."

Wheeljack's lip curled. "Let's get one thing straight," he sneered at her. "There isn't a damn thing between us."

He stalked off towards their destination point angrily, but he had barely gotten a few strides when she grabbed him again. He wrenched his arm away, stepping forward to intimidate her as he growled, "Don't make me do something you'll regret," he hissed. "We're all alone, and no one's here to protect you."

"I don't need protection from you," Arcee said back evenly, not backing down to him. She arched a sultry brow. "And if there's nothing between us, then why are you so defensive whenever I touch you? Are you . . . intimidated?"

"I'm not," he snapped sharply, trigger finger beginning to twitch.

"You're not?" she repeated while innocently widening her optics. She stepped forward until her chassis was almost flush with his. "Well then, one little kiss won't hurt, will it?" Heat pooled in his abdomen. For the sake of his pride, he didn't back away, but his optics did narrow dangerously. She smiled almost mockingly at him, and his servos twitched when he felt her lace her fingers around his. "What's wrong?" she whispered. His spark hammered at the brush of her breath on his mouth. "It's just one, harmless little kiss . . . and since we're in a relationship, it's the least I can do to kiss you . . ."

She leaned up on her toes, touching her lips to his, gentle and chaste. Time stood still as stone while her lips tasted his, and then, with a haggard groan, Wheeljack slammed her back against the wall of the tunnel so abruptly all the air was forced from her body. He kissed her hard, ragged with passion, and she wilted under his dominance. The force of his mouth unleashed a throb of heat that made a soft moan wrench from her throat, and his hands gripped hers, pinning her arms against the wall. Her pulse dropped to the floor when one hand dropped to her waist, the hard grip of his fingers cutting into her side as he yanked her closer.

He kissed her rough and urgent, almost unable to breathe or think around the fervor that seized him. It wasn't until he felt her grab his chassis, fingers dipping down to his protoform that he released her with a wild gasp, shoving her away like she was made of fire—and Primus, she was, so much fire that consumed him—

She staggered, turning to face him with her chassis heaving, face flushed, and lips swollen. "Now who wants to keep his hands to himself?" she mocked Wheeljack's previous words breathlessly, and he growled dangerously, ire bubbling up inside of him.

"That doesn't prove a fraggin' thing," he rasped, shaking he was wired so tight with emotion.

"It doesn't?" Arcee snapped back, optics alight with some sort of triumph he didn't understand and hated. He wasn't bested by a femme! "Then you tell me that I don't mean anything to you when you responded like that."

His hands shook violently with the urge to strike her. His lips pulled back over his denta, and he rumbled dangerously, "I'd back off right now or the Autobots aren't going to find anything but pieces of you."

Against his warning, she pushed him a little further. "Tell me," she whispered breathlessly. "Tell me you love me."

"I don't," he snarled.

"You do!" she cried out. His spark thundered in his chassis, unrest stirring like a great hurricane that threatened to tear him apart from the inside out. "You can't deny it after a kiss like that, Wheeljack. That came from your spark, NOT your processor. Tell me you love me! Say it! Please!" At this point, she just wanted to hear it, one more time, to give her something worth fighting for. Shame filled her spark she was so desperate to hear it—at least let him pretend to love her! She almost didn't care at this point if it was real or not.

But that kiss . . . That was real.

Wheeljack's blazing red optics cut her open for a long moment more as he struggled in the vortex of emotion that ripped him asunder. Finally, he grated out roughly, "We're on a mission. And you need to stop fraternizing with the enemy."

He started to move off before he heard her say, "You're not my enemy."

He whirled on her in violence, grabbing her by her neck and hoisting her up. She gasped thinly, grabbing his hand and trying to pull. "Let's get one thing straight," he hissed malevolently up at her. "I am NOT your ally. I am your enemy, and if you ever forget it, you won't live long enough to regret it."

Dropping her in a heap on the ground, Wheeljack strode off, struggling to ignore the mess of emotions his spark was left in as he focused on the mission at hand. Arcee watched him move off before she stood shakily to her peds to follow.

She'd let him get his emotions in check right now, but she was going to pounce again tonight. She was pushing the right buttons. He was feeling things he should be, not thinking things he shouldn't. Which meant he was under there, he was still there beneath everything the 'Cons must have done to him.

This conversation was far from over.


	57. Judas Kiss

**Author's Note:**

**Yeah, took me a while to finish this chapter, but that's because it was supposed to be a LOT longer. So I ended up having to chop this chapter into two parts instead of letting you guys finish this horrendous thing in one chapter. Much love to LadySuzaku for a small bit of dialogue she gave me for this chapter. And I start college the week after next, so who KNOWS what'll happen to my updates then.**

**Much love to my newest followers and favers Ivory Bangle, ThemSoundWaves, strikehead1454, A Fire Bending Tiger, therythem, The Warrior of Hope, lolistarkiller, clousay, Sordid Scribbles, PrimesSPARROW, and Raphaelplusmikey! Hope you guys continue to enjoy this!**

**And oodles of love to my reviewers, BossBot97, DayDreamerxo15, Mercedes Wolfcry, Ivory Bangle, lolistarkiller, Spiritstrike, FireReader93, megaghostgirl101, Grace, Raphaelplusmikey, Sounddrive, Guest, Kuurankukka, Zypherion-DeathNova, LynxbyLynx, Ultranova Prime, Foxbear, and Miko873! :D Hope to hear from more of you guys, and I plead with you guys...**

**STICK WITH ME. I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING.**

* * *

><p>Night.<p>

Wheeljack stood tensely in the main hangar, aware that everyone else had retired to their berths—even Ratchet, oddly—and that left him alone with the three humans slumbering on the couches. Which left him alone to his brooding thoughts that never ever stopped. He was confused, he felt like he had no identity, and the worst of it?

He didn't want to be here anymore.

He was ready to go back to the Decepticons. Where he belonged. He touched the red symbol stark on his chassis. He had taken this symbol for a reason. He had killed countless Autobots before. And, the crux of his curious relationship with the Autobots—Bulkhead. He knew he had killed Bulkhead, without a shadow of a doubt. He had blown the mech to pieces, seen the parts fly, felt the heat of the explosion. The moment stood so STARK in his processor. And the satisfaction.

Then why did one human's words make him second guess what he knew as fact?

When the door to the base opened up a crack, Wheeljack whirled, trigger finger twitching in mild panic before he realized it was just Twin Twist. He vented roughly, turning away from the Wrecker's soul-splitting gaze. However, instead of coming to him and bugging him like Wheeljack expected, he walked across the base, picked up the Apex Armor, walked back to the gangway, and nudged Miko.

"Miko," he whispered as she stirred slowly with a groggy yawn. "Miko, I—Wake up."

She rubbed the corners of her eyes, blinking tiredly, but worriedly up at him. "You okay?" she asked just as quietly, voice husky with sleep. "What's wrong?"

He held out the armor. "Put this one," he whispered to her.

Miko pushed herself up to a sitting position. "What? Why?"

"I can't recharge," he rasped. A small, unseen tremble chased up his back. "I need—Miko, I just . . . Topspin, he . . . We always recharged together . . ."

Compassion overflowed in her heart. Miko stood up, whispering, "Okay, okay, hold on . . ." As she reached out to the Apex Armor, her chest tightened. She bet he hadn't had one good recharge since the entire ordeal had happened. She hadn't even thought of how many nightmares he must have had . . .

Fitting on the Apex Armor again, Miko winced as the sounds of the armor clanking into place ricocheted loudly in the silence of the night, but she didn't have the chance to see if she had woken up Jack or Raf—before the last piece had locked into place, Twin Twist suddenly snatched her up in a bone-crushing hug, shuddering a vent into her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, heart hurting that she had to comfort a millennia old mech who had made it through the worst of war and loss. And yet, here he was, reduced to this because he was so broken.

She just held him for quite some time, letting him take comfort in her touch now that she was huggable sized. She rubbed his back and rocked him a little, knowing the gesture as the same one Jack had used to comfort her. Eventually, she coaxed out a tiny whisper.

"Would it be too uncomfortable to sleep in the Apex Armor?"

Miko shook her head. "It's fine," she told him, hugging him tighter. "It's actually pretty comfortable."

She heard him suck in a tight vent.

"Thank you."

Twin Twist took her hand, leading her out of the main hangar and out to the other which was used as their collective berth room, space hampering having actual private rooms. The only berths pushed side by side were Elita and Optimus, of which the pink femme was spooned comfortably by her mate. Yet, her optics were open, troubled, and she watched with a stir of compassion when Twin Twist led Miko in. His berth wasn't actually large enough to accommodate them both, so he pushed it up against the wall, and he sat with Miko, helm curled up beneath her chin.

The sound of the berth scraping against the floor brought several reactions from the slumbering Autobots. Bumblebee curled up into a tighter, more adorable ball; Smokescreen moaned softly, sprawling out on his back; Prowl's door wings twitched; Ratchet grumbled something under his breath in recharge; Optimus's arm tightened around her imperceptibly. Elita arched a brow when Arcee didn't react, but rather seemed even stiller. She was awake?

Elita watched as Twin Twist finally settled into a recharge, comforted by cuddling with the human in the Apex Armor. Eventually, Miko slipped back into sleep, and it was a minute or two later when Elita saw Arcee shift.

She stared as Arcee slunk off her berth, standing and optics flitting across the room. She started when she realized Elita was looking at her.

Their optics locked. Finally, Elita whispered, "I don't think you should face him alone."

Arcee's optics flickered, and she gnawed on her bottom lip. "I think I should," she whispered back.

Elita shook her head, sensing where Arcee's train of thought was taking her. "He's had a rough day," she replied in a hushed tone. "His processor is preoccupied. I don't think tonight would be the right time . . . By all means, yes, I approve," and her optics twinkled a little at the thought of Arcee forcing Wheeljack to realize the extent of his infatuation, though Arcee blushed. "Just maybe not tonight."

Arcee shifted. "So what do you suggest?"

Her lip curled a little. "How about we find out what's been bothering him?" she suggested quietly. When Arcee nodded, Elita tried to slip from Optimus's grasp without waking him, but the great leader stirred, hand reaching out to fall on her waist when she stood.

"Is something wrong?" he asked in a quiet grumble, vocalizer halfway caught in sleep.

Elita shook her head and touched his cheek. "No, love," she whispered, and she quickly conveyed through their spark about her and Arcee's intentions to speak with Wheeljack. "Go back to recharge."

He took the time to tilt his head up to kiss the inside of her palm before hunkering down and falling almost immediately back into his recharge. Elita's optics softened at his display of trust in Wheeljack not to do anything while he was sleeping. Then, she motioned Arcee to follow her.

Wheeljack, on the other hand, was pacing now.

He had worked himself into a fit disquiet, agonizing over his identity crisis. He would go back to the Decepticons. No human was going to change his mind. Besides, she had the Wrecker, right? He didn't belong here! He belonged at Megatron's side! He'd call a bridge. Right now. He didn't care.

But he didn't. Pit, if they picked him up here, they'd know this was the Autobot's base, right? They'd send an air strike in a nanoclick. They'd raze the entire place. Miko was dead meat if that happened.

He growled under his breath. So fine. As a last parting gift, he'd go out in the desert and then call for the bridge, claiming he didn't know where the bots' base was. It was plausible enough. They only bridged him back and forth, right? Yes. That was plausible.

But no, he had betrayed the Decepticons. He was fair game if he came back empty handed to Megatron. He'd be disposed of as a traitor in a klik. Frantically, Wheeljack tried to think of something the Autobots had that he could use as his ransom, but the human girl had just walked out with the Apex Armor, and the Phase Shifter was latched down tightly on the rookie's arm. He couldn't drag the Forge that far, and it was depleted of its power anyways.

His red optics fixated themselves on Ultra Magnus, floating harmlessly in the Cybernetic life support system.

That was it. He could kill Ultra Magnus, bring Megatron his head as proof that the mech had indeed still been alive. What greater a gift could he bring Megatron than the head of Optimus Prime's brother?

"Wheeljack?"

He froze at the sound of his spark mate's voice.

Slowly, Wheeljack turned from Ultra Magnus, spark slamming against the inside of his chassis as he deliberated with the cold touch of betrayal against his spark. Primus, it was both of those soft-valved femmes. He felt himself tensing up when they came up to him. He hated the way they manipulated his emotions against him.

"What do you want?" he growled with near-hostile intent at them.

"Just to talk," Elita told him with that gentle smile of hers. His protoform prickled as both femmes came up to him, and he set his jaw tightly. "What's been bothering you, Wheeljack?"

"Nothing!" he snapped. They needed to get out. Right now. If they valued their lives, they needed to leave. NOW.

Arcee just barely resisted a smirk, crossing her arms. "You don't SOUND fine," she needled back. "We know something's been bothering you, Wheeljack. Now what is it? Is it the commander? Is it me? Is it Twin Twist?"

"That's none of your Primus-slagged business!" he snarled, trigger finger twitching as a bundle of cold betrayal burned the edges of his spark.

"Or is it Miko?" Arcee said, and Wheeljack felt his lip curl defensively about the human girl that influenced his spark so much.

Elita One gave a thoughtful hum. "Wheeljack, could it perhaps just be yourself?"

He growled, backing away from them until managed to bump into the glass pod Ultra Magnus was submerged in. Based on how much better he looked, his recovery was speeding along nicely with Ratchet helping. He'd be out of the thing in less than a week.

Elita took a step forward, extending a soothing hand. "It's all right, Wheeljack," she said gently to him. "We're trying to help you."

"I don't need your help!" he snapped angrily, trigger finger twitching more intensely than before. "I just need you to leave me alone and get the frag out!"

He didn't have to take their lives. He didn't have to take them if they just left him alone. Let him backstab them in secret and not have to face their looks of betrayal. The temptation to fall to his programming practically sang a song of lust in his audios as he looked at Elita One. She trusted him. She was nice to him. She thought her compassion could reach him. And that was why she would be easy to trick.

"Wheeljack." He jerked when Arcee took a step towards him too, and unwittingly, he felt as if he was caged in on both sides by them. It heightened his agitation. "Look, we just want you back. The way it was before." That's right. Before he got into this mess with the Autobots. Back to when he was a Decepticon. Arcee vented, and her optics cast downward. "We miss you. You've got to trust us."

"Regardless of what dissent may remain," Elita promised, "you are an Autobot, and you always will be."

"I'm no Autobot!" he sneered, taking a menacing step towards her. She didn't flinch though his red optics jumped. "You'd do well to remember that, glitch. I could turn on you faster than Prowl could put me in stasis cuffs."

"But you won't," Arcee said. His helm snapped to her. Luminous blue optics blinked at him, ringed with the purple edge of passion. "You know in your spark that you wouldn't hurt us."

His arm twitched when Elita touched him. "Relax," she murmured soothingly. "Deep breaths." He took a strangled breath, fiery red optics blazing with deceit. It was now or never. "We're on your side, Wheeljack. We're going to make things right with you—"

Violently, Wheeljack backhanded the pink femme. Elita slammed into the computers, caught completely off guard by the explosion of violence, and before she could recover, Wheeljack kicked her knee sharply inward, breaking the femme's leg. She screamed, and Wheeljack turned around, intercepting Arcee. Grabbing her face, he rammed the back of her helm into the Cybernetic life support system, a faint crack splitting the glass. He pushed her away, and Arcee staggered, optics glitching as she tried to find Wheeljack again. He let his lip curl into a snarl, yanked out his katana, and didn't hesitate to prove his true colors as a Decepticon by running Arcee through.

The Judas kiss happened in less than a few kliks.

Time slowed as Arcee registered the katana impaled in her stomach and protruding out of her back, coated with grisly blue energon. He watched her optics dip to his sword, and her hands shook as they encircled the blade, without touch. Her optics looked up to his, and the sheer agony of betrayal that shone in her optics crippled him.

"Wheeljack . . ."

Her hands reached towards him.

Then, time resumed its natural state, and Wheeljack jerked his katana back out, letting Arcee fall to the floor with ragged vents. He grunted, dentures grinding in pain when he felt a bullet bite his shoulder, and he whirled on Elita who was refusing to go down without a fight. Crossing to her in one stride, the femme drew her energon rapier, blocking his first attack before he stamped on her crippled knee again. A cry cracked from her vocalizer, but he felt her rapier gouge through his leg before he kicked her hand away and stepped on her wrist, snapping it. She bucked, thrashing beneath him.

Grabbing her rapier and yanking it out with a hiss, Wheeljack ignored Jack and Raf—who were shouting and screaming—and resolved to drive the nail in the coffin. He turned to Ultra Magnus.

Horror chilled over Elita's circuits. "Wheeljack!" she cried out. "Wheeljack, DON'T!"

Without a scrap of mercy, Wheeljack chopped the majority of the main lines of the Cybernetic life support system. Immediately, Ultra Magnus was yanked out of his peaceful stasis, and the life-healing liquids began to flood the wrong chambers in his body, causing him to buck and seize, gasping for air to flush it out, only for more liquids to gush and fill up his systems. His spark fell into cardiac arrest, and his hands hit the pod, his body jerked, slamming into the sides, unknowing of where he was or how he was dying.

It all happened within seconds. It took Wheeljack seconds to so fully decimate their trust in him, and before Elita could try to do anything more, he grabbed her by her neck and dragged her off, ignoring Jack and Raf shouting and rushing to help do something for the Cybertronians he left dying behind him. Limping out in a hurry, Wheeljack had only made a few steps out to the desert before he heard the telltale cock and whir of an ion cannon.

Whirling around and yanking Elita up between him and Optimus Prime's gun, Wheeljack realized Elita had alerted him through their spark. He mildly cursed their connection, but it was too late anyways. He already had her.

Pulling a katana and pressing the sharp edge to her neck, Wheeljack shouted, "You get any closer and I'll slit her throat! Got that Prime? Stay back!"

He hadn't even taken the time to put on his battle mask yet, so Optimus's snarl of sheer protective hatred was bared for Wheeljack to see. It made a slight chill crawl up his spine, making him infinitely grateful that he had Elita to bar the mech with. "Wheeljack," he growled venomously, "let her go."

Prowl bolted into the open next, and the officer jolted in shock before his gaze flattened and he drew his weapons too. "No can do, Prime!" Wheeljack shouted at him. He pressed his katana firmly against her neck, cutting a few neck cables and letting the vivid blue energon trickle down contrasting pink armor. He saw the Prime's optics flare brightly in panic. "If any of you makes a move, I'll kill her! I'll spill her energon right now!" When Elita squirmed too much, searching for an escape, Wheeljack jerked her neck, hissing, "That goes for you too."

Optimus felt Elita's spark brush against his, warning him of the truth ringing in Wheeljack's words. Of the full gravity of his betrayal.

Optimus didn't lower his weapon, but he held up a hand to his soldiers amassing behind him. His lip angrily curled as he forced the words out. "Autobots . . . Stand down."

There were mutters, and barely concealed sneers, but the Autobots congregating from the night commotion unwillingly lowered their weapons trained on him. Wheeljack smirked, dragging Elita along as he backed away, and chiding, "Weapons DOWN, Prime. Unless you want to see what your mate looks like without a head."

Optimus literally growled, trigger finger twitching, but he lowered the barrel of his gun away from the mech kidnapping his spark mate. He touched Ratchet who was next to him. "Check on Ultra Magnus," he stated flatly to the medic. "Bumblebee, Smokescreen, help him with Arcee."

Wheeljack bared his denta, optics flicking to where the three immediately bolted inside to the ones he had left dying. They weren't going to die now, were they? Again, he cursed Elita's connection to Optimus as he pulled her deeper into the desert, the Prime's optics glued to his every movement.

Accessing his comm. link, Wheeljack barked to the Decepticons, "Open a bridge! I've got a present Megatron's going to LOVE." He could practically feel Optimus's black glare burning a hole through him. The bridge blasted open behind him with surprising promptness—he had expected to have to explain himself—but he didn't question it. With a narrow of his optics at the Prime who still had made no move, Wheeljack dragged Elita through the bridge.

Limping his way through, Wheeljack found himself smack on the bridge, Soundwave at the computers, Starscream and Knockout to the side, and Shockwave stood next to Megatron who had his hands clasped behind his back and optics narrowed shrewdly as he decided whether or not to terminate him.

Then, Wheeljack pulled Elita through, letting the ground bridge shut behind them, and he threw her down on her knees. She hissed in pain when her broken leg cracked against the ground, and he jerked a thumb to her. "Delivery to Megatron," he stated, shifting the weight off his bleeding leg.

The warlord's hands came apart and his optics widened as he took in the greatest weapon he could ever have against Optimus Prime. She lifted her helm, blue optics aloof and resolved against him, and Megatron felt a lurid and pleased smile curl his lip plates.

"Oh be still my beating spark!" Knockout literally took a step forward, optics alight with a thousand fantasies. "Elita One? The most radiant femme to ever grace the battlefield? Primus's gift to Cybertron!"

Starscream smirked at the star-struck mech. "And to Optimus Prime, lest you forget."

"A mech can dream, can't he?" Knockout chirped, his good mood unable to be dented as his optics roved hungrily over the femme that glared so hard it was a wonder he didn't back away. "She's . . . she's GORGEOUS! What I wouldn't give to wrap my hands around those curves . . ." His hands curled too, envisioning touching the great femme.

Far too pleased with the gift to get irritated at Knockout's fawning, Megatron said coyly, "She is far too much femme for you to handle, Knockout. Hence why she is PRIME'S SPARKMATE."

Elita's helm tipped, and her optics narrowed, particularly on the perverted younger mech. "And you would all do well to know that despite my current condition, I can most certainly remove vital mechly parts."

That made the pup back off as Knockout backed up to stand with Starscream again, but it only teased the wolf. Megatron grinned, amused at her fire, and he came to stand in front of her, a finger touching beneath her chin to crane her head up. "Elita One," he all but purred. He glanced over to Wheeljack who stood patiently. "And you." He stood tall again, turning to dwarf the smaller mech. "You betrayed us," he said to him. "And now you come back with Elita One in tow? Pray tell, explain yourself."

Wheeljack came to attention as best he could, favoring his leg. "Sir. My betrayal to you had to look authentic for the Autobots to welcome me back into their ranks. I simply bided my time for the right moment for them to let down their guard, and I struck. I ran Arcee through, cut Ultra Magnus's life support, and took Elita."

Megatron's brow lifted. "Impressive," he told him. "And Ultra Magnus yet still lives . . ."

Wheeljack nodded. "I believe the commander and Arcee will live, despite my best efforts. The medic was already moving to help them."

"An oversight," Megatron said. "I trust you know the location of the Autobot base?"

Wheeljack shook his head. "No, sir. They were careful not to let me know where their base was located as I had not proved my allegiance to them."

Elita glanced over at him. A grim smile curled her lips. "Is that so, Wheeljack?" she asked conversationally. He stiffened. "You almost looked like you were enjoying yourself—"

Viciously, he backhanded the femme, sending her sprawling across the gangway, but Megatron raised a hand to him as Elita nursed her split lip. "Restrain yourself," he said with a grin to Elita. "We don't want to damage the goods any more than she already is." A thousand plans ran through his processor, and Elita stared back, refusing to let him intimidate her. "Shockwave!" The scientist came unbidden, and Wheeljack shifted, feeling his spark take off a mile a minute with fear, and he had to resist the urge to flee. "A cortical psychic patch is needed to discover what until secrets the Autobots hold, such as the location of their new base."

Elita's gaze flattened in defiance, and Megatron's wrist flicked to two Vehicons. "Take our guest to the medical laboratory. Make sure she is comfortable."

Shockwave turned to his master as the Vehicons hefted up the taller femme. "My liege, if I may . . . I have a surgery that would prove most beneficial, although I need your permission as she may not survive the procedure."

Wheeljack's brow hiked up, and Elita's helm turned back, trying to listen in as she was taken away. Megatron gave a deep hum in his chassis before he turned to Wheeljack. "You have done exceedingly well. You are dismissed," he said. "Knockout! Repair him, and be sure to prep the med bay for anything Shockwave may require."

Clearly, this grated on Knockout's nerves, but he nodded, saying, "Yes, my liege." Wheeljack merely browed and left, but he couldn't help but try to hear what they were going to do to Elita. Still, that was null and void as Megatron merely took the time to dismiss Starscream as well to speak with Shockwave in private.

* * *

><p>The second they disappeared through the ground bridge, Optimus was running.<p>

He moved from absolute stillness to a full out sprint so suddenly it actually caused Prowl to start next to him, and he crossed the base and was out in the sand within a few strides. The portal closed, and he reached for nothing that was there, staggering in disbelieving horror at what he had let happen.

He stared out across the empty sands for a second before he threw back his head and roared in outraged despair.

Clenching his servos and struggling to control the failure running rampant through his spark, he reached out to Elita. Immediately, he felt her respond with reassurance, and he vented sharply, tilting his helm down and squeezing his optics shut with the forcible urge to control his emotions. She needed him now in the midst of their enemy, not the other way around. He had to be there to support her.

Prowl was saying something to him, but he tuned out the tactician that was no doubt trying to lend him some sort of comfort. _Elita? Are you all right?_

_ A broken leg and wrist, and a few nicks at the neck, but I'm fine._

_ What are they going to do with you?_

_ I don't know. Currently, they are simply adoring my looks._

A dangerous growl rattled the Prime's chassis.

_ If they so much as touch you . . ._

_ I know. And they know it too._

"Optimus!" He jerked back to the present at Ratchet's panicked voice in his comm. link. "I need you in here! Now!"

Snapping into action, Optimus ran back to the hangar to see Ratchet on a table, struggling to lift Ultra Magnus from the Cybernetic life support system. Bumblebee and Smokescreen were on either side of Arcee's medical berth, staunching her energon flow per Ratchet's instructions. Rushing to the medic's side, they pulled Ultra Magnus's seizing form from the container and laid him on the nearest medical berth. Optimus obediently backed away, scared and worried as Ultra Magnus choked up the liquids and convulsed in cardiac arrest. Ratchet returned with his defibrillators in a klik and began to forcibly shock his spark back into even beating.

Optimus's servos shook. He had never felt so frustrated, so helpless in his entire life. Wheeljack. He had trusted him! One false slip too soon, and his spark mate had paid the price for it. And not just his spark mate. His brother. Arcee. He hissed in a tight breath. Prowl had been right all along . . .

Abruptly, Ratchet performed a scan on Ultra Magnus, and finding him stabilized, grabbed his shoulders and forced him to turn over. "That's it, cough it up, Ultra Magnus. Listen to me! Stop fighting! Stop, just cough it all up, you're going to be fine."

Slowly, too slowly, the liquids began to regurgitate from his systems, sucking wetly as he drew in the air to clear his systems. His shaking and scrabbling hands clamped down on the edge of the berth as he purged it all from his systems, and when it was finally clear, Ratchet laid him back on the berth, barking to Optimus, "I need him back in stasis," and he had turned to Arcee, shooing off both Smokescreen and Bumblebee before he had even finished his orders. "The trauma on his spark is severe, and the panic will stress his already weak spark. I need him under NOW Optimus."

Optimus immediately grabbed the cable that would put his brother back under, and seeing his blind struggle hurt. Locking the connection down above his spark, Optimus reached up his free hand to Ultra Magnus's helm, fingers gripping him hard. "Ultra Magnus!" he all but cried into his face. He gave the mech a small shake, trying desperately to get him to understand where he was. "Ultra Magnus, please! You are safe. It's me. Optimus. I am with you."

His response was a jagged gasp, and his hand clamped down on Optimus's elbow, holding him fast. His cobalt optics flickered, hazy and disoriented, and the sheer effort Optimus could see him putting into trying to focus enough to see him cut his spark to ribbons. Face inches from his brother's, Optimus forced his servo over to hit the button, and immediately, stasis began to overtake Ultra Magnus.

His lips trembled with the effort to speak, but he could only managed another thin wheeze, and with what strength he had, he arched his back, brushing his chassis against Optimus's. The Prime froze, breath catching at the faint plea. Unfortunately, stasis took him; Ultra Magnus finally relaxed in Optimus's arms, panicked cycling slowing and spark easing from the stress of before.

Optimus wet his lips. "Ratchet—"

"Not now!" the medic barked, already having cracked open Arcee's armor and performing surgery on the femme who was completely under.

Optimus's throat moved, and he touched Ultra Magnus's cheek that was wet with condensation. They needed to bond again. Ultra Magnus was suffering without the connection. Ratchet needed to know the second he had the chance to reevaluate the commander's condition.

_Optimus, they've mentioned a surgery._

He stiffened, hearing Elita speaking to him through their bond. _A surgery? What kind?_

_ I don't know. Megatron decided to speak with Shockwave about it in private. I was unable to tell before they dragged me off. Shockwave briefly said something in regards to if I would be able to survive the procedure . . ._

His spark seized. _Elita—_

_ Don't worry. I don't break easy. I can survive anything Shockwave tries._

_ If only we knew what atrocities he has planned . . ._

_ I doubt it would help. Regardless, a cortical psychic patch is in store for me._

A small growl chased its way out of Optimus's vocalizer before he could stop it. His fists clenched. _I will not allow them to hurt you. We are connected. I will lend you my strength._

It was common knowledge that one mind alone would most likely break beneath the weight of the cortical psychic patch. Few and far between had ever managed to resist its perversion. But it was also common knowledge that if the victim was mated, their strength became more than one. The will became stronger; the determination grew; the ability to block the predator's mind became easier.

Though the mind rapist would only still be combating one mind, that one mind was backed up by the strength of another flowing through their spark. It would be as if a domestic cat had stood up to a lion. There would be no contest as to who could resist, but it was something the Decepticon scientist was highly aware of and would combat when the need arose.

_How is Ultra Magnus? And Arcee?_

At her sickened worry, Optimus sent her back a flood of comfort and reassurance. _Do not worry. Ratchet is already deep in his work on Arcee, and Ultra Magnus is stabilized. Save your mind's strength._

He felt her palpable relief. _I was worried . . ._ There was a pause, and then, _I am alone in the very back room of Knockout's med bay. ALL ALONE . . . If you ever get the chance, dear, I am strapped down immobile and ready for kinky bondage sex . . ._

For a moment, Optimus just heard her, and then, his processor caught up with her words. His lips tugged with a rueful, unwilling touch of a smile.

_And only you could twist some humor into a situation like this._

_ Well, I've got to be OPTIMISTIC, Optimus, now don't I? _He almost couldn't stop the optic roll at her blatant pun off his name. _I'd rather try to enjoy my time waiting here instead of letting myself dread about what is to come._

_ And that is why you are stronger than any cortical psychic patch, with or without my help._

Ratchet abruptly pushed a vent out of his systems. Having apparently done what he could for Arcee's protoform, he put her armor back in place and began to weld the wound shut to finish, reporting, "Wheeljack's blade initially seemed as if he had dealt a devastating wound, but the damage was superficial. It was a clean hit. He missed all her vitals. She should be up and moving by tomorrow, if gingerly."

_Elita, Arcee will make a full recovery. The blade missed all her vitals._

_Praise be to Primus! He must have heard my prayer; granted, prayed after the fact of the matter. He must be psychic too._

A weak laugh caught in the back of Optimus's throat. Bewildered. Loving. Worried. His optics settled on Ratchet as he brusquely began his work on Ultra Magnus again, double checking all his vitals and his overall status.

_That he must be, darling. And I pray he hears mine._

* * *

><p>"There we go, good as new!"<p>

Wheeljack grunted in response to Knockout, already annoyed by the mech. He resisted the urge to stretch his leg so he wouldn't break the fresh welds open, and he stood to his peds as Knockout moved about his medical lab. "And now, to compensate for your loss of energon," and the Decepticon medic reached into one of his cabinets, turning back with a cube of green energon, "here you are! Your ration of energon."

His optics narrowed at the Synthetic energon. "No."

Surprise flickered across Knockout's features. "No?"

"It's corroding my energon transfusion capacitor," he laid it out flat. Even more surprise filled Knockout's optics. "You want to explain why the Synthen's doing that to me?"

For a klik, Knockout just stared, shocked and scrambling for an answer before he brusquely cleared his vocalizer, saying, "I'm sorry. It's an oversight." And he frowned, taking another critical look at the green substance. "That's not like Shockwave . . ." With a thoughtful hum, Knockout moved back across the med lab, opening up another cabinet to pull out a bottle. Wheeljack's optics narrowed as Knockout measured some out and poured it into the Synthen, stirring it before he turned back to Wheeljack. When he failed to take it, Knockout huffed.

"Liquid enamel," he told the suspicious Decepticon. "It's a component that covers the energon transfusion capacitor with a layer of protective coating. It will combat the negative effects of the Synthetic energon whilst Shockwave corrects it."

When Wheeljack eyed it still, Knockout rolled his optics in exasperation, reached over and grabbed the bottle and handed it to Wheeljack. It was what he said it was. With a grunt, Wheeljack took the cube and handed him back the bottle.

"Contrary to what you all may think of me," Knockout muttered as he put the bottle away, "I actually take my job seriously . . ." He muttered a moment more about ungrateful Decepticons before turning to Wheeljack and putting his servos on his hips. "I can replace your transfusion capacitor with a new one. I'll schedule you in an appointment."

Wheeljack grunted. "Thanks."

When he said that, Knockout paused, blinking, and then, he smiled with a rather chipper, "You're welcome!"

He threw back the Synthetic energon, swallowing the foul tasting substance quickly. As he did, the stinging, buzzing, exhilarating feel of the drug made his optics flare, and he forgot any of his worries about taking the Synthen. His systems hummed as the energon rushed through him like bolts of electricity, and Wheeljack hadn't realized exactly how much he was in need of the drug until he had it back in his systems.

It was like he hadn't even realized what being without it was like. A haze suddenly lifted from his mind, and his thoughts became sharper, more attentive. His every motion seemed heightened, sharp, and he had so much more energy. Draining the last of the intoxicating Synthen, a comfortable buzz of adrenaline stole over his circuits. With a brazen grin, Wheeljack chucked the empty cube across the room and swaggered out without another word to Knockout.

See, he already felt better. Striding down the halls back to his room for a proper recharge, Wheeljack felt his permanently tense shoulders relax now that he was back where he should be, where he was welcome, and where he knew his part. No more confusion. No more pretending to be what he wasn't. No more touchy-feely Autobots and damn well no more sentimental human girls.

Wheeljack had just let out a sigh of relief and kicked the door to his berth room shut when he heard, "I knew you were stupid . . . but I didn't realize you were SO GODDAMN STUPID."

Defensively, Wheeljack whirled to face the truck sitting in the corner, the human smoking idly on his cigar. "Get out," he hissed. "You don't belong here."

"And neither do you."

"Stow it, Chief!" he barked, the need to attack almost immediately coming up and choking him. "Get out of here before I hang you by your entrails."

The man ignored his threat. "I see you've been drugging yourself up on the Synthetic energon again too, judging by your level of aggression."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Wheeljack snapped at him, rage piquing hot behind his complexion. "I've always promised you a number of gruesome endings, and I'll make good on them if you don't leave me the frag alone."

The chief grunted, tipping his hat up and leaning back in the bed of the truck to survey Wheeljack leisurely. "Even knowing what it does to you wasn't enough to make you turn it away. You're addicted. And like a good addict to your drug, you fell back into it without hesitation. Now tell me, do you have any idea the damage you've done? The trust you've broken?" He raised a brow at Wheeljack's silence. "The young girl's heart you've broken?"

He drew his ion cannon, leveling it at the human with a black glare. "Get the frag out or I'll blow you straight to hell."

The skinny human gave a careless shrug. "Don't see what good that would do. At the rate you're going, you're going to meet me there."

Wheeljack's lip curled. This man . . . or Cybertronian . . . this THING was sent to haunt him somehow. He knew what it was like talking to him. He knew what happened when you tried to ignore him. With an irritated snarl, Wheeljack growled, "Say your piece and be done with it so I can have some peace."

The chief grunted and crossed his booted ankles, sitting his thumbs in the belt loops of his worn denim jeans. "Glad you're finally learning," he quipped. "I'll put it in simple terms for you: you're either Megatron's lapdog, or a lost Autobot desperado."

His cannon cocked and whirred again. "I'm not desperate, and I damn well am not a dog. You better try again, fleshy."

He idly puffed on his cigar, wreathing his face in smoke. His teeth flashed in the dim lights of the Decepticon warship. "Yeah? Then tell me this: why are you so sensitive about the human girl?" When Wheeljack stayed silent, a trigger finger itching, the chief smirked deeper. He pulled his hat down low, slouching comfortably as if preparing to sleep. "Miko. Miko, Miko, Miko . . ."

The blast incinerated the human and his measly truck in an instant, leaving nothing but a burning wisp of smoke. With a frustrated hiss and a satisfied grunt, Wheeljack turned to his berth only to see the chief lounging there, tires dirtying up the clean surface. With an angry, irritated roar, Wheeljack grabbed the edge of the berth and flipped it up, intending to crush the small truck and human. Still, he whirled around, shooting several times as the chief moved about the room.

It took him a few seconds to control his ragged vents. His mysterious friend arched a brow, tipping his hat up. Steely brown eyes scrutinized him.

"Whatever happened to letting me speak my piece?"

Wheeljack shot again, but this time it merely collided with some sort of impenetrable force field. "You can fragging burn in the Pit for all I care," he hissed.

"The damage you've done by now is almost irreparable," the chief said suddenly. He sat up, leaning his forearms on his knees as his eyes narrowed in Wheeljack's direction. The truck he sat on growled an agreement, but Wheeljack could almost say the sound of the engine came from the human's mouth . . . "You have incited the wrath of a Prime. Such rage as that is not easily atoned, and neither is his forgiveness easily earned. No matter what path you take now, you will have to face him, and . . . well, I can only hope his gentleness prevails."

Wheeljack rolled his incensed optics. "Yeah? Death by Prime. Got it. Not too concerned about him."

The chief gave a low chuckle, entertained by his arrogance when fueled by the Synthetic energon. "You're in for a slow death by spark break if you continue like this."

The Decepticon stiffened then. "What are you talking about?"

He waved a lazy hand. "I'm sure you've noticed it," he mused, indeed, amused. "I'll let you debate what that means. But I think you've taken your optics off the prize." The chief looked up, shrew eyes boring into the Cybertronian across from him. "Your Neurocaroxic line?"

Wheeljack narrowed red optics down haughtily. "You think I forgot about that? Scrap, why do you even think I abducted Elita?"

The chief's lips pulled, edges tipping up. "Yeah? I'm not talking about the act of getting it. I'm talking about what getting it back means. Earning your memories."

His words made him stop. Wheeljack blinked at the smug human, too blindsided by his comment to even get angry. His memories. That had been what this was all about in the first place, wasn't it? Pit, even if he found his Neurocaroxic line, or somehow managed to rip one off a compatible body, he would still need a trustworthy doctor to put it back in . . . An individual he currently lacked. And even that wouldn't fix the issues encompassing his processor.

Finally, Wheeljack grunted and crossed his arms. "So what about you? You're basically all powerful. You know slag. Why don't you just tell me? Or better yet, why don't you just fix all of this if you're so worried about it?"

The tanned human spread his hands. "I'm not the deus ex machina, son."

When Wheeljack grumbled, the chief slouched back down in the bed of the red pickup, tugging his cowboy hat low and crossing his matching cowboy boots at the heels. "Just think about it, Blinky. Set your priorities straight. Go with your gut. After all, who were the ones that invaded Crystal City?"

With that, the chief suddenly decided he was gone. Wheeljack bolted forward a step when he faded from thin air, shouting, "Wait! Get back here, you miss-clock glitch! We're not through with this! Show yourself!"

Hate glazed behind his optics at the sudden low blow. Crystal City . . . He knew what had happened in Crystal City! Yes, the Decepticons came in and slaughtered, but who were the wretches that left them to burn? Who were the ones that left them to get bathed in their own energon? Who left them to die!

He knew who had wielded the weapons that did the deed. He didn't need a reminder.

He knew what had happened.

He knew the wretch who had tortured him.

Just like he knew he was a Decepticon.

It took a moment, but he realized he was hyperventilating. With a sharp gasp, he tried to control the jagged breathing patterns, chassis heaving with the effort, straining under the weight of a pain that was slowly lacerating his spark open. Almost violent with panic, Wheeljack opened his spark chamber, and he stared in horror at what he hadn't noticed before.

Little lines. Spark fracture lines. Spark break. It was slowly stealing over him. Like a plague. He didn't have spark break. He didn't have spark fracture. He didn't have that from anything! Nothing had happened except Pyro . . . Pyro was it, there was nothing else to accommodate for the numerous cracks splitting his spark . . . Dreadwing? He didn't remember one from Dreadwing, but that could count . . .

Vents shuddered irregularly from him. Shaking, he pitched to his knees, staring at the third and worst of the spark fractures afflicting him.

He had nothing. Nothing he could account it for.

_ Why are you so sensitive about the human girl?_

No. She had nothing to do with it. She had nothing to do with it, it couldn't be, there was no possible explanation. It was impossible. There was . . . no way . . . He couldn't believe that . . . She couldn't possibly . . . It was impossible . . .

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Again-STICK WITH ME. I know what I'm doing! (and this chapter was technically supposed to wrap up the whole Elita getting captured thing, but I've got a juicy bit of characterization for Prowl I'm working on that was taking up a lot more room than I expected)**

**Basically, in a nutshell, the girls pushed Wheeljack a little too far too fast. And Prowl's pressure on him wasn't helping anything. And he's basically a drug addict now to the Synthen, once he's got one taste he's gotta have another. His trust issues are in the way, BUT as we can see, the chief's words are getting to him. Thank God. And the next chapter is definitely the one you guys want to tune into because we finally see Wheeljack on his first steps towards recovery! YAY!**

**Oh, and Ultra Magnus should join the land of the living soon... :D**


	58. Fidelity

**Author's Note:**

**Just wanted to put here that Miko alludes to chapters 36 and 37 where Wheeljack promises never to forget her or Arcee.**

**Much love out to my newest fav and followers, Everon Prime, recognizer of unrecognizable, nebroadwe, and I'm Yu!**

**Oodles of thanks and love to my wonderful reviewers, recognizer of unrecognizable, lolistarkiller, Mercedes Wolfcry, Miko873, Kuurankukka, Winterbornbree, Eleyond, Grace, Sounddrive, Transformersfan01, TheIrishPixie, Spiritstrike, A Fire Bending Tiger, The Warrior of Hope, BossBot97, ZeDancingHobbit, and Fanatic 97!**

**A special shoutout to ZeDancingHobbit for suggesting that Arcee and Jack talk. Hope you like it! ^-^**

* * *

><p>" . . . Miko."<p>

Quickly wiping her eyes, she glanced behind her shoulder to see Prowl approaching her. She turned away, not in the mood to talk to anyone.

"What?"

He pushed a vent from his systems, trying not to outwardly show what he was feeling. "I need to talk to you." He waited for her verdict, and not receiving anything, was prompted to add, "Please, Miko. I—"

"You have my attention," she announced—muttered. Obviously, he wasn't going to start until she said something.

Prowl cleared his throat conspicuously, wondering how to begin. Not good at these sorts of things, he finally said, "Miko, I—I need to say—" He took a sharp vent, struggling. "You are—I was—When we—" Stopping, he cycled out a breath and tried again. "Miko, in regards to Wheeljack—"

"You don't have to say it," she muttered glumly, pulling into a tighter ball. She rested her chin sullenly on her knees. "I know. He was a Decepticon. You were right all along. He betrayed us. I was wrong. I was stupid for believing in him."

He reared back slightly, taken aback by her bitterness. "No, I—Miko, I was not going to say that."

She turned, glaring. "Then what do you want if you're not here to gloat?"

Prowl pressed his lip plates together, blue optics frowning from behind his yellow visor. "Do you really hate me?" His words made her pause, and he found it easier to speak to her when she wasn't being so brazenly disregarding of his authority—though, he had laid the "sir" to rest for this conversation, and this conversation only. "I have had many a mech hold me in contempt before. And I know I am no socialite, so I am used to being shunned. My programming is different from the others. But I do not think I have ever had someone tell me that they outright hate me, and . . ." He paused again, frown deepening with his troubles. "It does not sit well with me."

He had her full attention now. She glanced towards him. "Why don't you just admit it?" she asked him. "I hurt your feelings. Assuming you've got some."

Somehow, he managed to frown more. "Yes. I am no robot. I have feelings. And you hurt them."

"Well, you hurt mine," she shot back.

He vented again for patience. "Yes. And, I'm—" He choked on the word. How many people had he said this to? Not many . . . "What I mean to say is . . . Miko. I did not come over here to snub anything to you. Though it still baffles even my mind, I now understand what Wheeljack fully meant to you."

Prowl paused, trying to sort out his thoughts that seemed to fall under no file of logic or reason. He was out of his domain here. He did not know how to assuage a grieving human . . . "Regardless," he finally said, "whether he was just a friend, or even a father to you . . . I should not have done the things I did or said the things I said. I played a part in his betrayal, and I—I am . . . Miko, I—" His visor flickered as he struggled for the word. "I am . . . sorry."

For a minute, Miko just looked up at him, honey eyes staring, the hint of wetness in her lashes not having gone unnoticed by Prowl. Then, she looked away, staring at the ground and baring her back to him.

The tactical advisor shifted. "Do you accept my apology?" he asked.

His audio receptors picked up a suspicious sniff. "Sure. Okay."

Prowl paused. He had what he came for. A clear conscience. But suddenly, that wasn't enough. Hesitating to leave her, he finally managed, "Miko. Wheeljack is not a Decepticon."

She flinched into herself on the gangway. "I know that!" she snapped.

She was so volatile. Everything about her crackled like a live grenade, ready to blow up at the slightest twitch. To handle her was to play with fire, and Prowl tried to be careful so he wouldn't make things worse than they already were. "What I mean is, no matter what has happened to him, he will always be an Autobot in his spark, if not his processor. He is stubborn, so it will take him longer to learn the truth of what has happened to him, but he will learn. Believe in him—trust in him. He will be back. And once he is willing, we WILL repair the damage done to him. I promise."

The small human sniffed a little again, and she wiped her nose on the back of her hand before finally muttering quietly, "Thanks."

Prowl nodded, and he was about to go when, "I always thought your shoulder missiles were cool, but . . . Get rid of your stupid visor."

His optics blinked wide behind that stupid yellow visor, and he turned back to face Miko. "Please repeat yourself?"

"It reminds Twin Twist of Topspin," she said suddenly, and she turned around to face him, looking up at the Cybertronian. "He's complained about it to me, but he never would to you since you're his superior, but it hurts him every time he sees you wearing that stupid thing. So I want you to get rid of it."

Prowl's mouth parted on a small breath at the simple passion in that one request. Still, his lips tightened, and he was forced to say, "I am afraid I must deny that request."

She shot to her feet, a hot flush of anger scorching her cheeks. "You're just going to make his spark break worse!" she snapped. "Every time he sees you he's reminded of Topspin, and it's just making him worse! Are you TRYING to kill him?"

His hands slacked as he realized there was no way to temper the young human unless he told her the truth. He shook his helm. "No, Miko, I am not trying to kill him, but I am afraid we are the victims of an unfortunate impasse. I . . . I cannot take off my visor." Prowl stopped, shook his head, and started again. "No, I am sorry, I have explained it wrong. If I wish to see, I cannot take off my visor."

Miko's brows cinched. She shifted uncomfortably then, already feeling guilty for having snapped at him. "You mean . . . You're blind?"

Prowl shook his head. "Close, but not quite." For a brief moment, he retracted the visor, letting her see the damage to his optics. The Autobot blue color was patched white in several spots, and they flickered weakly, too dim to be of much use. Then, the yellow visor covered his optics again.

She frowned, and she pulled on her ponytail. "What happened?"

"Acid pellets," he stated. "About a millennia back, I lost my weapon to the enemy in a skirmish. He used my gun against me and shot the acid pellets directly into my optics, handicapping them permanently. I have since retired the use of that gun."

Caramel brown eyes looked up to him. "What CAN you see without the visor?"

"Very little," he told her truthfully. "My vision is severely distorted. Much like a fractural image gone awry. It is too flawed to make out distinct shapes and static bursts occasionally intrude unless I am wearing the visor to correct my vision."

He had thought that the privilege of knowing about his disability had gone over the human's head, but she suddenly shifted, glancing up at him. "So . . . How many people know about this?"

"Ratchet, clearly," Prowl said, "Optimus Prime, and his spark mate, assuming."

Miko made a small face at him. "No one else?"

"I did not think it prudent to make it common knowledge of my disability lest I lose respect or give away a weak spot."

"But that's just it," Miko persisted, crossing her arms stubbornly. "What if the visor breaks?"

"Ratchet will repair it."

"What if it breaks in combat?" An uncomfortable tremble made its way up her spine. "You wouldn't be able to see. The others need to know about it."

"I really do not think it would be prudent, nor is the issue the current matter at hand."

It took Miko just a second to figure it out. She stood up, eyes widening at Prowl. "You're ashamed of it," she breathed softly. His wings twitched once, and he clasped his servos behind his back, lips pressing. But he didn't deny it. He couldn't. Miko shook her head, saying, "Prowl, things happen in war. I mean—look at Bumblebee. He can't even talk. You need to let them know."

He was still for a moment, and then he managed to get out, "This conversation is already out of my comfort zone, please do not force me to further humiliate myself."

"I'm not forcing you to do anything," Miko cut in, eyes frowning in a way that uncannily reminded Prowl of Elita. "And this humiliates you? Talking to me? Showing that you've got some emotions?"

His wings ticked again. "No. Yes. That's not it. Possibly—No."

Miko arched a brow at him before she shook her head. "Everyone has weaknesses, Prowl. I do, Ratchet does, Bumblebee does—" she gave a gesture across the room, "even Optimus. You don't have to hide it. We're here to support you, but we can't unless you stop hiding the truth."

Prowl stood shock still for several long moments before his chassis rose and fell with a tight vent. "I do believe this conversation is over," he said in a hushed tone, turning to go.

"Prowl, wait." He stopped immediately. Miko felt something tight in her chest as everything seemed to be falling apart again. "I'm not forcing you to tell everyone, I just . . . I'm just advising my tactical advisor that . . . it's not very tactful to be hiding something so important . . ."

She watched his door wings angle downwards slightly before they abruptly tipped back up with a twitch. A heavy silence fell between them, and finally, Prowl said quietly, "I will take your words into consideration."

Miko watched him go. Then, with a small huff, she flopped down on her back and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Things like that reminded her of how little she knew about all of them. Yeah, she knew some particular moments from them, like Bumblebee's incident with Megatron on Tyger Pax, Arcee's tiff with Airachnid in the torture chambers, or Optimus being Orion before the war with Megatron . . . But in all? She knew very little about them. She knew barely anything about them, Wheeljack being the sole exception.

In fact, she bet she could never know all there was to know about them. They had lived for millennia. There was probably enough history on one of them to fill a whole text book and then some. They would know her far better than she could ever know them. Even if she kept her own secrets. Even if they shared secrets as dark as losing their sight.

She pushed out a frustrated breath. Stupid Prowl. He needed a friend, and he had just unintentionally made her feel obligated to nourish a tentative friendship with him.

Heavy footfalls alerted her to the only one large enough to have steps that heavy. Sitting up, Miko turned to face Optimus as he came towards her. He came to stand in front of her, and it took him a few seconds to say anything. He sighed, sorrowing optics looking down at her.

"Miko . . . I am sorry."

The human shook her head. "No, no, it . . . It's not your fault. If anything, _I _should be the one apologizing. Wheeljack took Elita."

Optimus vented, and she saw his shoulders visibly slump as he said, "Miko, you are not to blame either. Wheeljack chose his path on his own."

Chafing her arms uncomfortably, Miko tried to remove the guilt weighing down on her. "But . . . I AM the only person connected to Wheeljack's spark . . . Maybe if I had—"

Optimus's optics tightened. "Miko, please, don't."

"But it's true!" she burst. She came to her feet, pleading, "Optimus, really, I—What if I had just said a little more? What if I had told him what he really meant to me? What if I could have triggered something to let him know that . . . that . . ."

_He's my father._

Hot tears stung her eyes, and she bit her lip, clenching her fists. "He promised he wouldn't forget me . . ." she rasped. "He promised . . ."

His chassis tightened in compassionate pain. Reaching a careful servo over, Optimus tipped her chin up, brushing the tears from her cheek. "Do not cry," he told her softly, putting aside his anger at the Decepticon to comfort his charge. "Wheeljack cannot ignore his spark for so long. I promise, even if I have to drag him and knock him out, we will find out what is wrong with his processor. You have my word that we will return Wheeljack to his former self."

Sniffing, Miko nodded. "Thanks," she said, rubbing her eyes. She looked up to him. "You're spark bonded with Elita, right?" He nodded. "Wheeljack's told me a little about bonds . . . You can still feel her, right?"

"Yes, I can," Optimus replied.

"Is she all right?"

Optimus's optics softened down at the worried human. "So far, she is all right," he told her truthfully. "It is difficult to break a Cybertronian's will when they are bonded. I can strengthen her, help her through this."

Miko pulled on her ponytail again. Optimus's optics roved over her nervous habit, wondering how to soothe the young human. "So . . . What's happening to her right now? Are they torturing her?"

"No," he said instantly, putting that worry to rest. "Right now she is in stasis. The last thing I got was that they were going to do some operation to her, and we do not know what it is." He pushed a tight vent out of his body, trying to loosen his tense back. "Elita is strong, though. I am certain she will be able to withstand anything Shockwave tries . . ."

" . . . But you're not certain, are you?"

His optics closed and his brows cinched. "Miko, Shockwave is . . . Suffice to say, he has done extremely demoralizing feats through science, and so I worry about Elita being under his knife. He has killed so many in his experiments . . ."

"Elita's tough," Miko said quickly, mustering up one of her grins. "She can handle anything that Cyclops dishes out."

A soft, sad smile touched his faceplates, and for some reason, that only hurt worse. "I do hope so," he murmured softly.

Miko shuffled her feet. She had meant to comfort him, but she hadn't done a very good job of it . . . Sitting back down, she cleared her throat, asking, "So, um . . . How's Ultra Magnus doing?"

His crystal blue optics warmed slightly, and he looked over to where Ratchet was busy buzzing over Arcee, telling her the dos and the don'ts about her rapidly healing wound, Ultra Magnus comfortably stabilized and awaiting the medic's attention. "He is getting stronger bodily, but Ratchet is concerned about his spark. It was astonishingly weak, and he had been forced to keep him in the Cybernetic life support system to help him regain his strength. The recent . . ." He stalled, searching for the right word, "mishap, only stressed it more, so he is letting him rest and heal more before he finally brings him out of stasis." A small, true smile colored Optimus's facial plates. "He says he should be able to bring Ultra Magnus back online in a few days time."

Miko smiled. "That IS good news! Are you going to fix your bond with him?"

Optimus nodded graciously. "Yes. I fully intend to do that first thing. Ratchet says that will help his spark's healing from the trauma it has endured—"

Optimus suddenly stopped midsentence, vocalizer choking and body stiffening. Miko leapt to her feet as his optics flared bright white, his trembling lips visibly panicking. He staggered forward, and his servos grabbed the gangway tightly, snapping the railing with a crunch beneath his grip. His voice was nothing but a broken crack.

"Elita . . ."

Horror washed over Miko's features as Optimus's neon-white optics fixated themselves on her, but were unseeing, gazing beyond her.

The gangway creaked as the great Cybertronian gripping it began to tip sideways. Miko squeaked, feeling where she was standing become capricious, but concern for the Prime overcame everything. Opening her mouth, she let out a shrill shriek.

"OPTIMUS!"

The gangway snapped abruptly, coming down with Optimus. Miko screamed, sliding before she managed to grab one of the railing struts, and she hung on for dear life as a deafening crash rumbled the base when Optimus's body hit the ground in a collapsed heap.

"Optimus! Optimus!"

Ratchet was across the base in less than a klik, shouting the Prime's name as Optimus gave a loud, despairing moan, bodying slacking limp and fingers twitching. Miko blanched, staring in horror as the Prime suffered his spark break.

"Optimus!" Ratchet was shouting at him, shaking his shoulders, slapping his cheeks, trying to shock the Prime back into the land of the living. "Optimus, stay with us! You have to stay with us, Optimus, we need you! Optimus!" With a heavy grunt, Ratchet forced the kneeling Prime on his back, and Optimus seized in agony, body spasming as his spark tried to fall into cardiac arrest without his spark mate.

Ratchet grabbed his audio receptor, tightening his fingers to painful in the hopes the pain would make Optimus focus on the present. "Optimus, stop! You MUST survive this!"

His back arced—his lips pulled back over his teeth. His howl of agonized despair ripped across the base. "ELITA!" His voice cracked, breaking beneath the misery that plagued him.

Ratchet's jaw ticked with the effort it took him not to mention her name lest it snap the fragile hold Optimus had on himself. "Focus, Optimus! You can't give in! This is exactly what Megatron wants!" With a pitiful moan, Optimus turned back over, face pressed into Ratchet's lap and a hand grabbing his chassis. "He wants to take you both down in one fell swoop! Do NOT give him the satisfaction! Elita would never forgive you if you let Megatron have his way. Stay with us, Optimus, you can make it. Be strong."

He moaned again, vocalizer filling with static. "I promised her . . . I promised her! Together . . . we would go together . . ."

"No!" Ratchet shook him when he tried to fade away. "That was when you were still naïve Orion Pax! Megatron is COUNTING on that, Optimus!"

The medic made the wrong choice of words. With a half-roar half-cry, Optimus pushed the CMO almost violently away, and he staggered to his peds. Intending to run out to die in peace, a lone blue and white bot stood in his path.

Twin Twist blinked at him. "Optimus, stop. Stop now. Take a deep cycle."

The force of having his spark mate ripped away from him caused the great Cybertronian to collapse heavily to his knees again, causing another ground shaking quake. He fell to his hands and knees, chassis seizing irregularly with convulsions as he nearly let the tide of sorrow steal him away.

That empty look stole back into Twin Twist's optics, a deadened look. "Deep cycles. Fight it. You have to make it for Ultra Magnus." Optimus gave a raw groan, servos coming up to his face to press back the tears. "That's right. Your brother. You can't leave him all alone. And once you've got something to fight for . . ." His optics flicked up to Miko who stared back just as scared and guileless. "You can beat it. If for just a time."

A strained silence overtook the hangar as Optimus struggled with halting and breaking vents. His servos clutched at his helm, nearly tearing it off as he shivered. But he fought it. And his shaking slowly faded, and his hands fell limp. Then, he stood back up, knees locking, but he didn't look up, merely stood, as if deciding once and for all if he really wanted to keep going.

Ratchet took a step towards him. "Optimus—"

The Prime held up a hand. Ratchet stopped with a worried frown. "Save your scans, Ratchet," he finally muttered darkly. "I will be fine."

Twin Twist nodded though Optimus didn't seem to give any indication that the mech had nodded to him. Instead, blue and white brushed past the Prime who had gotten a hold of himself, and he held out a violently shaking servo beneath Miko.

She came back to herself with a start, blinking around a little wildly as she realized she was still hanging from the broken gangway. Reaching her legs down, she got her toes on his servo, but she couldn't let go. Consciously, she forced her vice-like hands to let go, and she collapsed in an ungraceful heap in Twin Twist's servo.

He immediately scooped her close to his chassis with an uneven vent, and he trembled almost violently. Miko looked up, pig tails bobbing with the motion. "Twist?"

"I'm okay!" he gasped out thinly. "I'm all right, I'm fine, it just—just a little too close to home, it . . . was a scary reminder . . ."

"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay." She rubbed her hand against his chassis as he visibly tried to control his panic. "You're all right. Shh . . ."

He nodded rapidly. "Yeah . . . I know. I'll make it, I swear I will, just long enough . . . I won't go until Wheeljack's back to normal, I promise."

Her head jerked up. "No. Promise me you won't go."

Something broke apart in the back of his optics.

"I can't promise that."

* * *

><p>Her fingers pinched at the sand, rubbing the tiny grains together. Her blue optics stared out over the endless dunes of sand, and she stayed hunched up, knees almost touching her chin. The sun was baking her metal to the point her coolant had begun to rush and her fans had cycled on, but that was all right. A part of her wanted to endure the heat. After all, Wheeljack had once mentioned he liked the heat because it reminded him of enduring Cybertron's rough elements when he was still a part of the Wreckers.<p>

She huffed a harsh breath. There she went again. Pining over him like some love-struck fool. Maybe she was, but that didn't mean she had to throw herself so stupidly at him. Maybe she had been stupid to believe she could trigger something to bring him back . . .

Arcee curled up tighter, narrowing her optics in distaste at the dead landscape before her. She put a servo on her stomach, touching the fresh weld. Maybe she had been asking for it. Maybe she deserved it. He had told her to back off, and she hadn't. She had only pressed harder. And she'd pressed too much. He'd snapped. She had pushed him away.

Groaning again, she dropped her helm on her knees, seething sullenly to herself. And here she was, recently released from Ratchet's ungodly care and sulking to herself. She scoffed, pressing against her optics, trying to hold back the stinging tears. It wasn't even her fault. She knew it wasn't. Yet she kept trying to blame it on herself, as if she would have been able to change Wheeljack's mind.

But maybe that was just it. She WANTED to blame it on herself in some sort of twisted defense for Wheeljack. Because she didn't want to ever believe he would do something like that out of his own violation.

"Arcee?"

Lifting her head, Arcee glanced over to see Jack. She mustered up a weak smile for him. "Hey, partner. What brings you all the way out here?"

"Just checking up on my partner," he shot back lightly, brushing his hair from his sweating forehead. His smile faded. "How are you doing?"

She gave a slight shrug and a muffled laugh. "As well as can be," she said with just the slightest touch of sarcasm. "Ratchet's healing skills are as apt as ever."

She heard him huff slightly under his breath. "I hate it when you're difficult . . ." Jack came over, and he plopped down on the sands next to her. "Arcee—"

"Be careful," she suddenly said, cutting him off. The blue motorcycle shifted away a little, finally looking down at herself and seeing the heat shimmering off her armor. "I'm probably hot to the touch."

Jack held up his hands innocently before sitting on his palms. "I promise to keep my hands to myself," he told her. His smile faltered again, and he sighed, looking down at the ground. "Arcee, I . . . I hate to start with the typical 'I'm sorry,' but . . . I really am."

Bitterly, Arcee scoffed, staring out over the sands. "I am too," she muttered. "Sorry I actually let myself believe in him after the stuff he's done . . ."

The human's chest rose and fell with a tight breath, and he frowned at his distraught guardian. "Arcee, don't talk like that. Something's wrong with him. We all knew it."

She scowled. "Yeah, well sorry I'm taking this a bit personally."

"And you think I'm not?" Jack raked a hand through his hair, struggling to put what he was feeling into words. "Arcee, I—I trusted Wheeljack too. I never told you, but he basically asked my permission to be with you. And I trusted him to take care of you when I couldn't, so . . ."

Jack frowned, looking away briefly. "Arcee, every woman in my life has been hurt by men they loved and trusted. You with Wheeljack, Miko with her dad, and . . . Mom with my Dad." When he sucked in a breath, Arcee canted her helm down, luminous optics pinning to her troubled charge. "And I'm tired of just standing by and watching them get hurt. I hate not being able to stop it, and I hate not being able to fix it."

Arcee vented softly, spark feeling even heavier than before. "Jack," she said gently, "it's not your fault."

"And I'm hoping you realize that too." Jack turned his head up to Arcee, meeting her optics, worry eating away his insides. "Don't ever blame yourself for some HE did," he stressed, throat working. "Mom didn't need to, Miko didn't need to, and you don't need to either. It'll only make it hurt worse, and in the end, it doesn't matter."

Arcee swallowed, and she felt her spark melt. "Thanks, Jack," she rasped softly. Taking a deep breath and venting, Arcee looked back out over the dunes of sand. "Jack, if you could . . . could you do me a favor?"

"Anything," he said immediately.

"Can you get Miko for me? I think . . . I need to talk to her."

Jack nodded, standing to his feet and brushing off his pants. "Sure. I'll go get her."

Unraveling from her balled up position, Arcee stretched her legs out though she still crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders. Sighing to herself, Arcee waited for Miko nervously. She didn't want to broach subjects like this with the young human after everything she had gone through, but it was necessary . . .

Sooner than later, she heard soft footsteps approaching her, and she looked over to see Miko hesitantly making her way towards her. Arcee patted the ground next to her, saying, "Come here, Miko. I . . . need to talk to you."

Miko pulled nervously on her hair. "Okay . . ."

Arcee turned to face the young human, biting her lip uncertainly. She vented a rough cycle, passing a servo over her face. "Miko . . ." Her jaw ticked slightly. "Miko, about Wheeljack . . . Even if he does come to his senses . . . You need to understand the weight of the damage he's done."

Miko's feet shuffled through the sand, pushing deep lines in the dirt. "Yeah?"

The femme took a painful breath. "Miko, he . . . He kidnapped Elita. Optimus's spark mate. The lady Prime. That . . ." She felt her throat bob. "That's treason in the VERY least. Much less the anger Optimus is going to carry. You don't—You don't incite a spark mate's rage, much less the rage of a Prime. And Wheeljack . . . Wheeljack just crossed that line."

The small human just ducked her head, pigtails falling forward. "Meaning?" she muttered in a small voice.

Her spark hurt. Arcee tried to ignore it, but the pain bothered her to the point the hand rubbing at the wound Wheeljack left on her moved to her chassis. "Miko . . . He could be executed in a spark beat." She flinched. "At the very least, imprisonment. But . . . Elita has only been captured twice during this war, and Wheeljack was one of those times. When we caught the perpetrator of the first incident . . ."

Miko gave a barely audible scoff. "Let me guess," she said glumly. "Optimus blew his face off."

Arcee paused. "As a Prime, he had greater restraint than that," she murmured. "Ironhide led the execution."

"So basically," she cut in with dark sarcasm, "even if Wheeljack had brang her back and apologized, he would have been screwed anyways."

Arcee's throat tightened again, and she struggled to hold back the negative. "I didn't say that," she said softly. "And because Optimus knows that you view him as your father, I'm inclined to think his greater compassion would extend—"

"You're stupid," Miko interrupted angrily. She stood abruptly to her feet, glaring at Arcee. "You know what just happened! You know what happened, and I know it, and Optimus knows it, and Ratchet knows it—we all know it! Optimus is NEVER going to forgive Wheeljack for that!"

Blue optics frowned down at her. "You don't know that, Miko," she said as gently as she could. "Optimus forgave Megatron for millennia of the evils he did—"

"Yeah?" she cut in with a curl of her lip so much like Wheeljack that it caused a pang to go through Arcee's spark. "Well, Megatron never did what Wheeljack did!"

"That didn't mean he didn't try," Arcee cut in strictly.

Miko looked abruptly away. "And that doesn't change the fact that Wheeljack captured her and got her killed," she muttered.

A touch of anger began to brew in Arcee. She tried to temper it, but still, the words popped out. "I don't see how losing your faith in Wheeljack is going to help anything."

Miko glared. "I've always believed in Wheeljack," she said flatly. "It's Optimus I'm losing faith in."

Arcee narrowed her optics. "He's never let us down before."

Hot tears stung Miko's eyes. "Well, before he wasn't suffering spark break, so maybe this time's different!"

The human rapidly scrubbed her eyes before the tears could fall, and Arcee felt her spark clench again. With a blasting vent, Arcee rubbed between her optics before looking down at the human bearing too much for her age.

Finally, she lightly touched her chest. "You're losing your faith in Optimus," Arcee said softly. She touched the weld on her stomach. "And I'm losing my faith in Wheeljack . . ." She lifted her optics to the small human. "Maybe . . . If we put our hearts together . . . we might be able to make up for each other's weaknesses."

Miko blinked rapidly before taking a deep breath. Honey eyes looked up at her. "If you really love him, you won't have any doubts in him."

Her words lanced through her. Arcee took a shaky breath, feeling as if Miko had suddenly stripped her of all her defenses. Still, she managed to swallow and whisper something back.

"If you truly believe in Optimus, you'll know he deals with the greatest compassion even to his greatest enemies . . . and especially to family."

* * *

><p>Primus damn him if he was going to sit here and stew about his problems for one moment more.<p>

For the past three days he had been on the Decepticon warship brooding over the chief's words and stressing himself over the implications of the spark fractures covering his spark. In fact, it turned out it wasn't just three. There were FIVE.

FIVE.

How the Pit had he managed to survive for so long? And who the scrap was he supposed to blame them on? And if he found his Neurocaroxic line in Knockout's med bay . . . The thought filled him with immeasurable amounts of anger. So much so that he had vented his frustrations on his room numerous times over until there was nothing left but a huge wreck.

Well, he HAD been a Wrecker at one point.

Still, Wheeljack took the time to temper his aggression enough to act calm enough while he walked down the halls. Shockwave had been called to work on his legion of pets for the time being, so Wheeljack was in the clear to go rooting around in the med bay. If Knockout was there? Well, he'd make him live up to his name.

So Wheeljack—as nonchalantly as possible—made his way to the med bay, anxiety eating him up as he began his investigation. Once the doors whizzed shut behind him, he was on the clock—Soundwave would be tracking his every movement, and at best, he had already completed a sweep of this sector and he would have a few minutes to spare.

He was counting on those minutes.

Tearing through Knockout's laboratory (the medic woefully absent), Wheeljack tore through cabinets, dug through spare part bins, and cracked the codes on anything under lock and key. He found a beautiful array of equipment and parts, impressive for this late in the war with medical supplies in usual shortage, but never did he find the one thing he was looking for. Axels, nuts, bolts, metal, stitches, alcohol, syringes, capsules, welders, the Synthetic energon—which he had to resist taking a cube just for the hell of it—but it was simply full of the standard medical supplies. The Synthen had been the only thing under lock.

Then, Wheeljack jolted with his elbows deep in a pantry. His head jerked towards the door into the deeper confines of the medical laboratory. Of course! He would never keep such a precious commodity out in the open. If he had his Neurocaroxic line, it would be kept in the deeper confines of the med lab.

Quickly jacking into the door's control panel and hacking through the firewalls, Wheeljack entered the back room of the mad doctor's lab and froze at the sight that greeted him.

Elita. Her helm had been cracked wide open, the ingresses to her cranial unit opened up and bared naked to the world. Her chassis had been forcefully opened and jammed agape, unable to be closed. She laid immobile, a multitude of cords hooked into her processor, and Wheeljack's energon tanks flipped sickeningly at the sight until he realized exactly what he was looking at.

It was a crude method of open-processor surgery, and she was prepped and ready to undergo these tortures. Obviously, Shockwave had too many projects at once and Elita's torment had been put off briefly, Knockout merely having prepped her for Shockwave's cruel hand. Wheeljack turned his face away from her vivisected head. He was here for his Neurocaroxic line . . . if it was even in this Primus forsaken place . . . Rapidly, servos shaking in disgust at the mess on the table, Wheeljack set his jaw and focused on searching the Decepticon laboratory rapidly, wanting to get out of there.

"Wh-eeljack . . ."

He jerked in alarm, whirling and pointing his ion cannon towards the one who had whispered his name almost inaudibly. To his utter shock, he saw Elita's helm tipped slightly his way, as if she was trying to look at him. Her fingers twitched, trying to reach to him.

"Wheeljack . . . Help me . . . Please . . ."

It took him a minute to realize he had begun to shake. Pressing his lips together, Wheeljack disarmed himself and hurriedly turned back towards the cabinets, searching futilely for his missing part. He wasn't here for her. He was here for himself. He didn't have the time, the ordinance, or the chances to save her.

"Please . . ." Her raspy, desperate pleas floated across the room to him. "You're . . . my only . . . hope . . ."

His jaw clacked together with an audible grind of his dentures. She was blackmailing him. Guilt tripping him like she had done from the beginning! He wasn't falling for it!

Wheeljack stubbornly ignored her and instead continued to rifle through the contents of the Decepticon laboratory. The cortical psychic patch cable had been raveled up nicely and put away. Clearly, it had failed against the strong-willed captive, and they had resorted to savagery against her.

EMPs, memory chips, sloital arteries, secondary energon lines, replacement joints and limbs . . . Everything but what he was looking for. Kneeling and ransacking the lower cabinets, ignoring all the other rare items of healing, Wheeljack's servos froze on a small container tucked in the back corner, a tube no bigger than one of his fingers. With a quick intake, Wheeljack opened it, and his optics stared at his find.

His Neurocaroxic line.

"Wheel . . . jack . . . PLEASE . . ."

Wheeljack flinched at the sound of her cracking vocalizer, refusing to put his optics on her pathetic form again. Closing the container and gripping it tightly, he subspaced the small item so he wouldn't lose it and turned to go.

He halted. His head craned back over to the computer left unattended. Could it possibly hold more answers?

For a second, he wavered in indecision, terrified that the Decepticons were on to him—and most likely were—but his peds bolted to the computer as he began to search its databanks rapidly for anything on himself. Though he had to break through several codes, one detail file opened up to his optics.

"Wh-eeljack . . . please . . . Miko . . ."

If he hadn't been so engrossed in horror at what he was looking at, he might have cringed at the reminder of the human. Instead, he could only stare for one klik at the meticulous notes on what had twisted his processor in on itself before he rapidly grabbed an empty datapad and jacked it into the computer, downloading the file.

"Wheeljack."

Against his will, he had to glance back to her. He flinched at the sight of her, those anguished blue optics seeing right through to his soul. Her lips trembled. "Please . . ." Her finger wiggled again, and Wheeljack's thin intakes seized. "Please . . ."

He looked back to the content downloading into the datapad. He looked back to Elita lying carved open on the medical berth.

He cursed himself a thousand times over.

Darting across the room, Wheeljack carefully and quickly began removing the wires from her processor, ignoring her winces and inaudible cries of pain as he did so, knowing there was no easy way to do it. Spark hammering in his chassis, he closed her processor ingresses, physically putting her helm back together. Reaching to her chassis, he first made sure every line was connected, and seeing that they were, overloaded the mechanism forcing her spark chamber doors open. Her chassis immediately closed with a defensive clang.

Her leg and wrist were still broken. For a second he hesitated again, wondering how to be gentle, but realized there was no way. Picking her up, he tossed her over his shoulder and hurried back to the computer. Pulse slamming, Wheeljack waited impatiently for the download to finish. Seconds seemed like hours, and finally, he snagged the datapad, shoving it in his subspace with his Neurocaroxic line as he ran from the med lab.

Sprinting full throttle down the halls of the _NEMESIS_, Wheeljack held Elita to his shoulder with one arm, his leading arm's hand transforming into his ion cannon, primed and ready to attack any that got in his way now. The Synthen began to rush, burning, sinister and black like poison.

He had been deceived. The Decepticons had lied to him, keeping his apparent fraternization with the Autobots hidden from him. He had ties there, whatever they were, despite how his processor still warred with itself to kill them like the Decepticon he had been programmed to be.

As he turned a corner, he blew past Knockout. The medic shouted, and almost immediately, the alarms began to wail, high alert began to sound across the warship, and Wheeljack gritted his teeth, determination setting in his veins with a hungering bloodlust. If anyone tried to stop him now, he'd blow their helms inside out.

He held one mech's entire world across his shoulder; she was the weight of his sins, a burden he was forced to bear.

He had his Neurocaroxic line in his possession. Once he found a trustworthy candidate to surgically put it back in, the truth would be revealed.

Wheeljack's lip curled at the first mess of Vehicons that dared to stand in his way. Lifting his ion cannon, Wheeljack open fired, killing any that got in his line of fire. Changing his path, he ducked down a different hallway, forced a different way from the escape pods. Whirling down another path, he nearly ran smack into another brigade of Vehicons—pulling one of his katanas with a roar, Wheeljack laid into the mechs standing in his way, decapitating, disemboweling, and disembodying.

He was pushed around the ship. Each way to the escape pods were blocked off by squads of Insecticons, sending his peds flying down another hallway, cutting through more Vehicons and avoiding as many enemies as he could.

It was too late to change his path when he realized exactly where he was getting pushed to. To the upper levels. The center of the ship. Directly towards the upper deck.

Instead of fighting it, Wheeljack went for broke, especially when he nearly ran down the hall where Megatron was heading right towards him, a howl of rage on his lips. Wheeljack snarled back but took Elita directly where the Decepticons were trying to take them. Bolting through the double doors and into the open air, Wheeljack ran past the great Predacon that stirred from a power down.

An audio shattering roar split from the beast's mandibles, and Wheeljack gritted his dentures, darting towards the starboard side of the ship with a fearful glance over his shoulder. The fireball visibly made its way up the Predacon's throat, and Wheeljack threw himself to the side in a roll, feeling the heat singe as the flames hurtled past.

Leaping to his peds, Elita crying out when her broken leg was jostled roughly, Wheeljack jumped up on the outer gangway, feeling the winds threatening to steal him off the edge of the ship. His energon tanks lurched a little uncomfortably at the sickening drop through the clouds, and he turned back towards his adversaries. The Predacon growled, hackles rising to pounce as Megatron sneered, shouting, "Stand down, Wheeljack, and give me back my prize, or be annihilated!"

The fresh batch of Synthen scorched his systems, making him spit in the warlord's eye, "Frag you! I'm about to make your greatest enemy one damned happy mech!"

With that parting smack of words, Wheeljack vaulted off the edge of the ship, Elita gripping him tightly as they plummeted. Above, he heard the Predacon roar, and he didn't need to look back to know the beast was taking off in pursuit.

Accessing the Autobot communication lines now that he was off the ship's dampening signals, Wheeljack barked, "You might want to open a bridge now if you want your spark mate back in one piece!"

The Predacon screeched behind him, closing the gap between them swiftly. "Wheeljack—" Ratchet's voice was cut off by the Prime's snapping, "Your lies will not grant you asylum in this place! My spark mate is dead!"

Wheeljack's red optics flashed. "Tell that to the dead weight on my back—!"

Elita heaved herself up to his comm. link. "Optimus!" she cried. "Optimus, listen to him—!"

Wheeljack roared in pain when the Predacon's fireball hit them directly. The blast made him lose his grip on Elita, and after a long second of catching his careening fall, he spotted Elita not far away struggling against the winds, too weak to catch her fall. Moving to her, Wheeljack winced at the Predacon's shriek of anger. Pulling his grenade, Wheeljack pulled the pin and threw it towards the gaining Predacon.

It blew above, shaking the skies and making the dragon scream in anger, the blast throwing off its flight pattern for just a brief enough time for Wheeljack to grab Elita and yank her to his chassis. The ground bridge opened beneath him, and he had just enough time to widen his optics, tuck Elita as safely as he could, and plummet at dizzying speeds through the bridge.

They crashed to the ground, Wheeljack's shoulder taking the brunt of the blow as they hurtled into the Autobot base. They flipped and skidded, one of Wheeljack's wing kibbles wrenching out of joint and a serious case of metal burn ripping up his sides as he cushioned the blow for the pink femme in his arms. They skidded to a stop in the middle of the base, and Wheeljack coughed, dropping Elita on the ground and staggering to a knee, processor ringing with the crash landing.

Before he could gather his bearings, a vengeful fist cracked into his jaw, his dentures snapping into each other so hard they broke. Staggering back and crashing to the ground, Wheeljack just managed to keep himself from falling into unconsciousness though his optics fritzed in glitching pain.

A shrill shriek split the air, one he was all too familiar with.

"OPTIMUS, DON'T!"

A vicious kick to his gut sent the smaller mech flying across the base and slamming into the far wall. Wheeljack collapsed on the ground, wheezing in pain and coughing up a few dribbles of Synthen, servos shaking in agony. A hand clamped on his throat, hoisting him up and driving him into the hangar wall.

Cold blue optics possessed by rage drilled into him. "Give me one good reason not to snap your neck right now."

Wheeljack vented tightly, struggling to get his articulators to work with the Prime choking him. To top his woes, the Synthen made him arrogant and not one whit repentant.

"I brought her back."

His lip curled. "A fragging good answer."

Instead, Wheeljack felt him hoisted again and slammed without mercy into the ground. Groaning in agony, he felt himself picked up, and the Prime's fist clocked across his jaw again, swiping across his cheek and driving a powerful uppercut that shattered more of his articulators. Miko screamed on his behalf somewhere in the mix. Before he could crash in a useless heap on the ground, he felt himself picked up and thrown one more time, this time tossed at Prowl's peds.

"Take him to the brig before I do something I'll regret."

Spitting a glob of energon and articulators on the floor, Wheeljack felt his arms wrenched none-too-nicely behind his back. Grunting and beginning to struggle, the stasis cuffs were locked tightly around his wrists, and Wheeljack jerked, feeling his movement restricted as he was taken prisoner in the place that had once claimed he was one of them.

Prowl hoisted him to his peds, a gun pressing to his back as he was escorted out of the hanger. Rage piqued. "Frag—_kksht—_all!" he snapped, broken articulators hampering several letters from coming out correctly and instead as a burst of static. "I was treated better—_kksht_— the Decepticons!" Prowl forced him forward, the Prime glaring black and holding back all malicious intent as he was taken away. "I should have—_kksht_—them kill her! I should have—_kksht_—her there to die!" His nearly delusional yells cracked angrily from his vocalizer. "_Kksht—_you all! Frag you all! Frag you—_kksht—"_

The second Wheeljack was out of the room, Optimus turned, sick with worry to Elita. Ratchet was already by her side, helping her up, and Optimus fell to a knee, scooping her up as gently as possible into his chassis. She stiffened, and his spark hurt.

He released her reluctantly, whispering, "I'm sorry," for agitating her wounds. Elita's optics jumped, and she looked away from him quickly, shifting uncomfortably. Ratchet wrapped one of her arms around his shoulders, helping her up and to his medical berth. Optimus's distressed optics trailed her urgently, and he shadowed her movements, agonized spark unable to understand that she was alive. His spark pulsed in misery, desperate to reclaim the bond and frustrated he couldn't do so immediately.

The second Ratchet had sat her exhausted form down on the berth, Optimus knelt by her side, taking her unbroken hand in his. She jumped again, but the Prime held her servo to his cheek, a staggered vent cycling from him.

"Are you all right?"

Uneasy and confused optics flickered at him. Her mouth parted, and her lips trembled, and finally she rasped, "I . . . I'm supposed to know you, aren't I?"

Optimus recoiled as if he had been physically struck. Sensing her discomfort, the gentlemanly side of him released her hand though his spark roared possessively, agonizing to fix the broken bond. Finally, as Ratchet immediately began to scan her, preparing to set her wrist and leg, Optimus managed to crack out, "Y-yes. Wh-what . . . ? Elita . . ."

She shrank into herself. "I . . . The Decepticons used a cortical psychic patch," she told him, shifting on the berth away from him, unsettled by the raw passion pouring out of him. "I . . . It had to fry some of my memories, but . . . I—I'm supposed to know you. I—Who . . . Who are you?"

Horrified dejection lanced across his optics. He exuded misery in stifling waves, making her shy away again, and something seemed to break apart in him. His mouth opened, vocalizer cracking in disbelief.

"You're my spark mate."


	59. A Warm Embrace

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry this took forever! . I started college, so I've got LOTS of homework, so I won't be updating as quickly. I hope to be able to update every two weeks if I can. But this is a long chapter, so hopefully you guys can forgive me?**

**Much love shouting out to my newest fav/followers JEMILYLOVER1234, CrimsonLaurana, and AmethystUzumaki!**

**Oodles of love and thanks to my reviewers: Grace, The Warrior of Hope, Sounddrive, Foxbear, JEMILYLOVER1234, strikehead1454, MercedesWolfcry, Eleyond, Mazamba, Kuurankukka, Lewascan2, a Guest, Spiritstrike, Miko873, Katie Gibbs, Winterbornbree, Ardianna, EmoPirateLuv, SilenceSpeaksWhenWordsCan't, ZeDancingHobbit, MajorWanderer, writergurl616, TheIrishPixie, and BossBot97! 3 3 3**

**Seriously, you guys should all review like that all the time! I was SWAMPED with reviews, and it was wonderful! If that keeps happening, and with how much story I have left, I could get over 1,000 reviews on this. That's a cool goal. 1,000 reviews. Let's shoot for it! And I'll make this story the biggest most awesome roller coaster you've ever been on!**

* * *

><p>Wheeljack twitched again on the floor. Wrists locked tight in manacles, he glared foully at his prison while trying to move his shoulders a little for relief from the tight position.<p>

What could he do? He was actually quite—begrudgingly—impressed that the Autobots actually HAD a brig at all. At most, it could hold four as he could see the places where it would split again down the centers, but for him they left it as one giant half room of the hangar. Empty, save for a hard berth. Wheeljack sat on the ground where Prowl had shoved him, and he hadn't moved from the position since, red optics pinned to the powerful force fields encasing him from all sides. The ship the newbie Autobots came in on must have held some provisions to allow this.

In fact, since he had been tossed in the brig, he had been sure it would have been Optimus Prime that came to question him. Or his little lap dog.

But no. Lo and behold, the door that opened was human sized, and through walked a male. Wheeljack narrowed his ire-filled gaze his way, daring him to mess with him now.

For a human, he was a good size, buff from work outs and in fine physical condition. He wore military pants, and a muscle shirt; his dog tags jingled slightly as he came forward. He squared off against Wheeljack, green eyes narrowed shrewdly. Wheeljack narrowed his optics back. For a second, they glared at each other, and the man finally made his first move.

Reaching a hand into his pocket, the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting one, the cap snapped back over the flame as he took several good puffs, lighting the end solidly before pocketing his things.

"So."

Wheeljack grunted, wrists straining against the cuffs.

"Are you a good guy or a bad guy?"

He just managed not to flinch. His red optics boiled in anger. "SCRAM," he growled, putting as much venom into that one word as he could. When the man just stood there, knowing he was safe with Wheeljack behind the powerful force fields. His optics darkened a shade, feeling a prickle up his spine. "Who are you?" he snarled. "Friend of the Chief's?"

He snorted and shook his head. "Figures you wouldn't remember. Again, I'll introduce myself as Igor Popov. Iggy Pop for short."

"So you're real," Wheeljack said, glad he wasn't just another accursed figment of his imagination like the Chief. He must be going schizophrenic if he thought that man was actually real . . . Despite the very real beating he had received from the man—Cybertronian—whatever the hell he was! "And you'll make a fine mess of red fluids when I step on you."

Iggy Pop gave a shrug and took a deep draught of his cigar. "I wouldn't recommend it," he said conversationally. "After all, we get rather sticky when we spill out fluids, so I'd imagine peeling me off the bottom of your foot would be difficult." Wheeljack just blinked once at him. Iggy Pop stuck his thumbs in his belt loops, rocking back on his heels. "Not to mention I've got lots of breakable little parts that would probably get lodged somewhere in your armor. And cleaning up a mess like that sure wouldn't be pretty—"

A prickling shudder ran up Wheeljack's back. "I've been through worse," he snapped, cutting him off short.

He arched a bushy brow. "Really?"

"Try wallowing through energon up to your ankles in the middle of a war zone, climbing over the dead as you're running, and the ones still clinging to life grabbing at your ankles for help and the whole Primus-slagged city burning and dying and the smell of burning mechs and femmes and sparklings stinging your optics, THAT bad."

He said it all in one tight breath, nearly growling and hyperventilating all at once at the reminder of Crystal City. Still, Wheeljack didn't move his optics away from the human that kept his gaze on his, determined to make the smug little fragger look away first.

Iggy Pop just stared intently at him, seeming to size him up. Finally, the intruding human quipped, "You never did answer my question." Wheeljack's jaw clacked tight. When he refused to answer again, Iggy Pop again pressed, "So are you the good guy or the bad guy?"

Wheeljack grunted and jerked his head in the general direction of all around him. "If you haven't noticed, I'm a prisoner."

"That doesn't answer the question."

He felt the Synthetic energon beginning to buzz in his systems as his irritation mounted. "I've got the label," and he tried to gesture down to the Decepticon symbol on his chassis.

"That doesn't answer the question."

"I gutted Arcee! I tried to terminate Magnus! I kidnapped Elita!"

"And then brought her right back, so that doesn't answer the question."

Wheeljack jolted to his peds, leering above the human with a scowl on his face. "What the frag do you want from me?"

Knocking the ashes off the edge of his cigarette, Iggy Pop calmly chewed on the edge of it. "Just an answer."

"I've given you plenty of answers," Wheeljack hissed.

"But you still haven't told me if you're a good guy or a bad guy," Iggy Pop pointed out. "How about this," and he crossed his arms and quirked a bushy brow, "I'll make it easier for you. Are you an Autobot or Decepticon?"

Wheeljack's fists clenched, and his wrists strained against the cuffs. "What's it matter to you?"

Iggy Pop gave a shrug. "Miko's been hanging out with us lately," he said, enlightening Wheeljack to her whereabouts. "She wanted combat lessons from Casino, of course, but her mouth never stops. She's constantly telling us about you. Her guardian. The one who's supposed to protect her, right?"

Wheeljack felt every wire in his body strain as he struggled to keep the man's gaze that hadn't wavered on bit from him.

He nodded. "You became partners after Bulkhead died. You guys had the many misadventures of trying to get revenge on Dreadwing. You've had bad experiences with Optimus Prime's temper, human sickness and periods, and popcorn, and wrenches. She looks up to you like a father figure. Did I cover about everything?"

Confused and irritated, Wheeljack could only snap, "I have no idea what the Pit you're talking about. I never knew the kid before I came here."

Iggy Pop shifted positions. "Yeah, and your apparent amnesia or whatever. I got that too." He cocked his head. "So tell me, Wheeljack, are you an Autobot or a Decepticon? After all, you've clearly done some things that are Decepticon, and you've clearly done some things that are Autobot, and around here, it's basically 50-50 on which side you're on, but no one's thought to ask you. So?"

Wheeljack's jaw ticked. When he still failed to say anything, Iggy Pop was quiet for a moment, letting him think it through. Then, looking up at his red optics, Iggy Pop's eyes widened.

"Huh."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics. "What?" he barked aggressively, Synthen rushing fast.

"You don't know, do you?"

Wheeljack took a step forwards, glaring blackly down at the human. "GET OUT," he snarled a threatening octave lower.

Seeming satisfied with his answer, Iggy Pop shrugged massive shoulders. "Sure thing. I'm not supposed to be here anyways." He turned to go, and Wheeljack made sure to keep his glare on him the entire way. Iggy Pop didn't glance back, but decided to add, "You know, that might be a question you might want to find an answer to."

With that, the door shut behind him, leaving him alone in the brig again. With a frustrated snarl under his breath, Wheeljack paced his prison angrily. How was he supposed to know anything at this point? It was all twisted up in his processor! He didn't know what to fight for anymore. He instigated things he wasn't sure he meant, he didn't know how he got this way, and he wasn't sure he would ever be all right.

Broodingly, he sat back down on the ground, so angry and frustrated that he couldn't see straight.

_I have my Neurocaroxic line. That's all that matters. I got what I came for._

But for all he was worth, he didn't know what to do now that he had it.

* * *

><p>"You don't remember?"<p>

"I told you already, I DON'T! Would you stop it already?"

"Don't get snippy with me! I'm trying to understand the full damage the Decepticons have done to your processor!"

Elita crossed her arms, looking down at her peds as Ratchet harrumphed to himself, trying to reign in his temper. Optimus hovered a bit close to Elita, unable to help himself with the spark break afflicting him, and it made her uncomfortable. Ratchet would have asked Optimus to step back long ago save for the fact that he was exhibiting incredible self control by NOT coming any closer to her.

Pinching his brow and heaving a stressed sigh, Ratchet tried to recap. "Clearly you've suffered a cortical psychic patch. You do remember that. You know it corrupted several large memory chips. But you don't remember Optimus, nor do you remember how the bond was broken?"

Elita pulled in closer to herself, shifting a little away from Optimus, unnerved by his closeness. "Yes. But I don't have a bond! I've never bonded to anyone."

"Then tell me how and why you are suffering from massive trauma from spark break," Ratchet replied in a rather clipped tone, handing her the datapad back that had the most recent updates of her condition. In short, he had reassembled her processor correctly, braced both her leg and her wrist, and run internal diagnostics.

Optimus's fingers twitched as he resisted touching Elita just to know she was there. Instead, trying to trust his optics, he said, "You called me by name. You knew it was me. So how do you not remember me?"

The sound of his voice made her squirm away a little more, and she did not look at him. "I . . . I don't know."

Ratchet flicked through the datapad thoughtfully, a hum rumbling his chassis. "My theory would be that she IS correlating subconsciously that you are her spark mate. She just doesn't realize it yet. She knows you are Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, but I presume that when she saw how affectionate you were to her that there was something more here than she realized. Because she knows something is missing from her memory."

Elita narrowed blue optics. "Don't presume so much, Ratchet."

"I don't hear you denying it."

"Look," Elita said, sore, and beginning to become more than a little peeved at this. "I appreciate you trying to help me, Ratchet, but I am utterly exhausted. I need to recharge, I'm sore, I have a major processor ache, and I just need a little personal space."

Ratchet rubbed a servo over his face. "Elita . . . Running from the problem isn't going to fix it, but if you insist, then please, go and rest."

She bit her lip, feeling a little pressured on all sides, and finally, a matter-of-fact voice said, "I don't know why you're so worried about all of this."

Optimus nearly twisted an axel he whipped around so fast. His dentures ground as he forcibly reigned back a hot temper, stating toward Twin Twist, "I fail to see how one cannot be worried about this."

Twin Twist just shrugged. "Just bond with her again."

Ratchet blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

He nodded, shifting a careless shoulder. "Sure. That's what I did with Topspin. Granted, the cortical psychic patch didn't yank him, but other things . . . But I got most all of it back when we bonded again. He filled in all the gaps for me. So if you just bond with her again, I'm sure she'll remember."

For a click, everything in the room didn't move. A flush slowly covered Elita's cheeks as she warily peeked over her shoulder to where Optimus stood. Ratchet stiffened.

"Optimus . . ."

He seized in a trembling breath, whirling away abruptly from Elita and struggling to control the urge to fix their broken bond. He shook, so consumed with the urge that it nearly blinded his optics.

His vocals trembled. "Elita . . ."

She rocketed to her peds at the sheer passion in his voice. "I—I think I'm going to recharge," she stammered weakly.

She started to go without any opposition, but he froze her peds with just one word.

"Wait!"

Though she told herself not to, she glanced back to Optimus. Blue optics drowning in desperation searched hers, and he finally rasped, "Everything we've told you is the truth. I would never lie to you. But you . . . Will not allow me the chance to show you . . ."

An uncomfortable shiver ran up her back. "I . . ." She looked away, spark flipping uncertainly in her chassis. "I am sorry, Optimus Prime. I . . ." Struggling for the words to explain her confusion, she could only say, "I cannot trust you enough with my spark. You are a stranger to me. Now, if you weren't before . . ."

"Then I will court you again."

She looked up sharply, and the empathetic promise in his optics disarmed her. He took a step to her, saying, "I promise, I will capture your spark again. I will do everything I had done before and more, and I will make this right. I love you, Elita, and if I cannot make you remember, I will make you fall harder for me this time than you did the last."

A hot blush filled her cheeks and her spark sputtered nervously. Why did his voice make her tremble, even when he wasn't angry?

Optimus watched her limp away without another word, slowly making her way out of the hanger. Smokescreen took a glance in between them, and then he leapt forward, offering his arm to Elita, saying, "Here, let me help."

Optimus watched her take his arm with a small, "Thank you," and then, he helped her out the door. A curious sense of jealousy filled Optimus's spark along with gratefulness that his spark mate would not have to hobble all the way back to the berth rooms.

With that feeling, the anger returned. He hated seeing her like that, broken and hurting. A shake ran down his arms. He had watched Ratchet put her processor back together. He saw the damage, he felt it through his spark, and again, all the blame lay at the peds of one mech.

Ratchet's hand touched his shoulder. "If she fell so hard for you the first time, this won't be a problem for you, Optimus. Just have patience."

He took a nearly strangled breath to calm the storm within, shrugging off Ratchet's hand. "I need to speak with Wheeljack."

Prowl took a step in front of him, barring his way, squaring his shoulders as he craned his head to look up at him. "Sir, I do not think speaking to him at this point will do any good."

"I want his motives," Optimus stated flatly.

"Then allow me to interrogate him," Prowl said quickly when the Prime made the move to leave.

His optics narrowed. "What are you insinuating, Prowl?"

The mech paused. "Optimus, sir, you have always warned us when our anger clouds our judgment. If our positions were reversed, you would not let any one of us confront him."

Cold blue optics drilled into him. "And would any one of you actually listen to me?" he growled darkly.

Prowl's door wings twitched once, knowing the reputation his troops had on pursuing revenge.

"If you hurt him, I won't forgive you."

His head snapped towards Miko who was glaring from the gangway, lips pressed tightly together. She jutted her chin up. "He's my guardian. And as much as he has to protect me, I have to protect him. Even from you."

Optimus's optics flickered. "I never said I was going to kill him."

"But you certainly entertained the thought, didn't you?"

His face flattened. "Miko—"

"Oh don't even pretend!" she snapped, honey eyes cutting right through him. "Prime or not, you're still just a mech! I saw the look in your eyes when the bond was broken! It doesn't take a genius to put it together. And I know what you did to the last guy who kidnapped Elita."

Immediately, Optimus looked to Ratchet, and the mech held his hands up in defensive surrender. He glanced around the room until his gaze settled on Arcee. Her optics were unrepentant, but she did look away.

Optimus turned his dark gaze back on Miko. "Then I also presume you know the price of treason such as this."

"And I hope you realize he's family," she spat back. The Prime straightened his shoulders, taken aback by the strength in her voice. In this moment, he knew she wasn't a child anymore.

"There are other punishments than simple execution," Optimus said back evenly, optics veiled. "I have not forgotten all the sides of this argument simply because of the events that have happened. I intend to keep a level head, and I will. I only wish to speak with him."

"I don't trust you!" Her words lashed across the room. Worried tears began to bead in her eyes, and she bit her lip. "You're not looking at it right! You're just blinded by the spark break!"

"I am not," he said tersely back, "and you have nothing to worry about. I will not lose my temper, and for the sake of your worries, I will bring Prowl with me."

With that, he turned sharply on his heel, closing the conversation with her promptly. Prowl looked to Miko, saying, "Do not worry. I will not allow him to do anything he will regret."

Prowl began to tail him, and Miko swallowed seeing the stiff set of Optimus's shoulders. "Please, Prowl! Don't let him do it! He just isn't seeing—He can't see! He can't see it the way you do! You can SEE it!"

She watched the impact of her words hit him. His peds rooted to the spot, and he turned back to look at her, wings twitching. She gulped back the tears, pressing, "You can see the situation clearly."

His wings twitched again. His optics flickered weakly behind his visor.

Even if he couldn't see.

Ratchet took a sideways glance between the two of them before Prowl turned and hurried after the Prime whose longer strides almost made him jog to keep up. Wetting his lips anxiously, he said, "Sir, what are you planning to do to him?"

A short vent. "I do not know," he said in a clipped tone.

"I thought you said you were going to speak to him."

"I am," Optimus said back as they approached the hangar. "Beyond that, I do not know."

Prowl's lip plates pressed together as Optimus entered the hangar that kept Wheeljack captive. Wheeljack glanced up at them, and red optics narrowed.

"So, what's it to be?" he said sarcastically. "Point blank? Or maybe some torture first? Or would you rather do it with your own hands?" He grinned at the Prime's optics, seeing the dark storm rising behind his complexion. "I can take it, Prime. I'm not afraid of you now, and I won't ever be."

Optimus meticulously crossed his arms, pinning his servos beneath his elbows. "You do not need to extend me the invitation, Wheeljack," he stressed. "If I had wanted you dead, you would already be in the Pit."

Wheeljack crossed his legs languidly, stretching out comfortably on the floor. "So? Whatcha keeping me around for then? Got something better planned?"

"You will receive your punishment at a time of my choosing," Optimus replied strictly, icy blue optics becoming colder. "For now, you are to answer my questions, or I will not hesitate in dealing you the pain I am currently restraining myself from."

Wheeljack snorted. "Fire away, Sparky."

Prowl watched attentively both towards Wheeljack and Optimus. Wheeljack's aggressive tendencies worried him. Much less, Optimus's fine line of control. "Optimus, I suggest we come back at another time," he urged him again. "Wheeljack is the type to goad you into a physical response, and . . ." He paused, flexing a fist in remembrance. "He is impeccably deft at doing so."

Optimus ignored him. For a long moment, he just stared at Wheeljack, optics cutting into him a thousand different ways, wondering which would get the truth and which would be lies. "Tell me, Wheeljack, have you decided whether you are an Autobot or a Decepticon yet?"

"Not particularly," he said flippantly.

"I was hoping you could tell me. It would change your punishment greatly."

A smirk touched Wheeljack's features. "I see. So if I pick the Decepticons, I get terminated, and the Autobots, I live."

"As much as it pains me, I would rather you pick the latter of the two."

With a flash of brazen arrogance, Wheeljack suddenly stood to his peds, coming right up to the edge of the force field holding him prisoner. "Then I pick the former," he said on a grin. "I'm a Decepticon. Check out the flashy label. Looks good on me, don't you think?"

Decepticon red optics challenged him. A very tense cycle circulated through Optimus's systems before he let it out, and he could almost feel the strain emanating from Prowl behind him.

"He's testing you, sir—"

"I know."

For a long moment, the Prime's servos clenched as he restrained himself, and finally, he said, "You are under the effects of Synthetic energon."

Wheeljack shrugged. "Nope. I just like to see the look on your face."

"And so you are," Optimus deduced through his bold-faced lie. "Is there a reason you antagonize me so? Simply to vex me, or do you truly have a death wish?"

Wheeljack's jaw clacked together, and the cocky grin faded sharply. "What's it matter to you?"

"_I_ am the one asking the questions, Wheeljack," Optimus refuted him on a growl. "And your refusal to answer is telling, and I must say, it amuses me. You brought Elita back because you are guilty."

"You're wrong!" Wheeljack snapped hotly. "I don't give a frag about her!"

"Then why did you bring her back?"

His face flushed. "That's none of your Primus-slagged business."

A razor-thin smile touched the Prime's features. "Then I thank you, Wheeljack. I appreciate greatly the mercy you have extended to me. As a show of my gratefulness, I will extend the same mercy to you, and I will not have you terminated. This way, you may live with your guilt. A fair trade, don't you think?"

Somehow, Wheeljack flushed even hotter. Suddenly, he hated being in the brig. He hated the force field keeping him from strangling the mech on the spot, and he hated the cuffs keeping him unable to attack in the first place.

Prowl's lips twitched. "Well played, Prime."

"In fact," Optimus continued eerily cheerful, "I do believe I have something even better planned for you. Have you ever heard the phrase, 'heap the burning coals upon his head'?"

Wheeljack stared in something close to horror.

"I will leave you locked up, but only so that you may not escape. Otherwise, you are free from all charges." The words nearly grated from his mouth, but he managed to say them. "I will allow anyone who wants to the chance to visit you," and his grin broadened almost maliciously, "and I do believe there is a certain human girl at this base that will be utterly delighted to spend her every waking hour with you."

His jaw slacked. He could have taken anything. Anything. But that.

Optimus inclined his helm. "I bid you good day, Wheeljack. Your 24 hour visiting hours begin immediately."

The Prime turned and walked out, and on his heels went Prowl with the smacking comment of, "I will add the arrangement to my schedule immediately, Sir."

Wheeljack just gaped as he was left alone again, still locked behind the force field that dampened all his weapons and communications. That was . . .

Cruel and unusual punishment.

And by Primus, ANYONE but Prowl!

He got what he asked immediately—his first visitor WASN'T Prowl, but the human girl he most certainly didn't want to see.

He reeled back when she entered, dragging a box and a guitar case. Belatedly, he realized the box was an amp. Primus no. Human music?

"Get the frag out of here," he hissed at her, retreating to the far end of his cell. He jumped when his stasis cuffs wirelessly disconnected and his wrists were freed. Angrily, he kicked them across his room.

"Sorry, I get to stay as long as I want," she replied candidly back, going about her business without much regard to how furious he was at the moment. She hooked her guitar up to the amp, and she sat down and began to idly tune. Wheeljack winced at the discarding sound.

"I'm here to tell you what you mean to me."

Wheeljack leered. "I don't give a scrap. Leave me alone."

"Sorry, you don't ever get to be alone if I've got anything to say about it." Wheeljack growled again, pacing inside his cell like a caged lion. Miko continued to tune her strings as she spoke.

"Now. You're my guardian. At first, you weren't. I met you through Bulkhead when you first came to Earth, and you and Bulkhead were such bros that I didn't think I had the faintest chance of being your friend."

"I was the one that killed Bulkhead," Wheeljack retorted sharply, blazing red optics glaring into her.

She ignored his comment. "You left to chase the stars, and the next time I saw you was after Bulkhead had died. It was then that you promised to take care of me. You swore on the depths of the All Spark."

"I didn't!" Wheeljack interrupted again, uncomfortably hot and spark reacting strongly towards her proximity. Growling, he tried to ignore it, struggling to comprehend what was going on with himself.

"After this, we enter a period of our lives where we go out for revenge on Dreadwing and sincerely muck it all up until you almost die and I get broken ribs. Optimus was an aft again at this point and separated us, and thus brings me to the song I'm about to play."

"I don't want to hear it!"

Miko chuckled with a small smirk. "Of course not . . ." Idly, she strummed several times, happy enough with the tuning. "You know, I once woke Bulkhead from a coma with my music. I'm pretty sure I can trigger you to remember something with our song."

"We don't have a song," he growled.

She nodded. "Yes we do. And I think you'll remember a little something. After all, since you're bonded to me, it's bound to pack a wallop."

Wheeljack finally stopped. He turned, red optics staring at her. "What are you talking about? A bond?"

"Yup."

"Cybertronians can't bond with humans."

He said it as if it closed her argument. She gave a shrug and looked up to him. "Ratchet described it as an artificial bond. Your spark fluctuates in response to me, and it reaches to bond with me even though it can't. I've come close to your spark numerous times, and there was definitely one time you legit had a hissy-fit spaz attack and locked me in your spark chamber, so it's very true. I'll have Ratchet bring you the history of it on a datapad and you can look through it all you like."

Wheeljack stared. "I don't believe you."

"Sure you do!" she said brightly with a smile. "Run a scan on yourself for a bond. I know you can."

Wheeljack's servos twitched nervously. Swallowing hard and setting his jaw, he refused to do it, and instead of dwelling on it, she strummed her electric guitar a few more times.

"Anyways, enough talk. I want you to hear it."

Before he could tell her not to, she was already playing. And immediately, at the sound of those familiar notes, his chest tightened up. Jaw clenching, he glared at her, feeling a sense of déjà vu that prickled across his processor.

_"I wanted you to know, that I love the way you laugh. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away . . ."_

He wanted to ignore her. By Primus he wanted to. The sound poured into his audio receptors like molten lava, agonizing in their beauty and shattering in their passion.

_"I keep your photograph, and I know it serves me well. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain . . . Because I'm broken, when I'm lonesome, and I don't feel right, when you're gone away . . ."_

Wheeljack jerked back physical, as if he'd been attacked. His in cycles became thin, strangled with the sensation that was stealing through him. He knew this song. He knew . . . that voice . . .

_"The worst is over now, and we can breathe again. I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away. There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain . . ."_

His servos leapt to his chassis, clawing at the pain there that flared to life. Shivering, he tried to block it out. "Stop!" he cried out, unable to bear the weight of the passions crushing him.

_"Because I'm broken! When I'm open! And I don't feel like I am strong enough! Because I'm broken! When I'm lonesome! And I don't feel right when you're gone away!"_

"Stop it!" he shouted as she drew into the guitar solo bridge. He clamped his servos over his audios, trying to block her out, but he didn't mute his audio receptors. For some, self-flagellation issue, he didn't turn them off. He couldn't. "Shut up! Primus slag you, shut up!"

If anything, his pleas only made her sing louder.

_"Cause I'm broken! When I'm open! And I don't feel like I am strong enough! Cause I'm broken! When I'm lonesome! And I don't feel right when you're gone away!"_

It was too much. He couldn't do it. He couldn't listen to this anymore. He wouldn't! As she started into the last, powerful chorus, he shouted out, "Shut up! Stop! Stop!" and his fists drew up, slamming into the force fields containing him.

With a yell of pain, the highly volatile volts coursed through him, sending him crashing to the ground with a little smoke venting from his systems. Miko screamed shortly, dropping her guitar and jumping to her feet.

"Jackie? Jackie!"

He shuddered. He tried to fight the meaningless tears. It was just a song. It meant nothing. Yet, he lifted his helm, throat working as he looked at the small human on the other side of the barrier.

"Why?"

It was the only word he could crack out of his vocalizer. He wasn't even sure what he was asking. But he was. Her features softened, and she came to stand before him, a mite too close to the force field for his liking, but she smiled sweetly.

"Well, I love you, Dad, do I need more reason than that?"

He hissed tightly, the words almost lancing right through him. He dropped his helm back on the ground, fists tightening as he struggled with the idea that her story was right. It couldn't be though. He held no memory of it, he didn't know any of this, none of it existed in his mind . . .

Then WHY did his spark hurt so much?

* * *

><p>Smokescreen had hesitated initially to help Elita out of the hangar. First, he didn't want to be seen as making a move on the Prime's spark mate. On top of that, he didn't REALLY want her to go away from Optimus. He wanted a happy ending as much as the next.<p>

But in all, watching her limp heavily, unable to use her broken leg, sealed the deal. Jumping forward and offering his arm to her, he said quickly, "Here, let me help."

Elita looked up at him before she took his arm, settling most of her weight against him. "Thank you," she murmured quietly.

He frowned at how much she used him for support as they moved along. Clearly, she was hurting a lot more than she was letting on. As they exited the main hangar, Smokescreen cleared his throat nervously.

"Um . . . So, uh, Elita—Ma'am! Is it just, uh, Optimus that you've forgotten?"

She smiled softly, but it didn't touch her optics. "Yes," she said, reassuring him.

Smokescreen smiled in relief. "Okay, good! Then, can I talk to you the way I did when we were picking our new alt modes?"

She nodded again, trying to keep the weight off of her broken leg and thankful that Smokescreen was helping her that evening. "If you'd like."

"Good! Well, um, actually . . ." He tilted his helm up to the femme who was over a head taller than himself. He frowned in worry, softening his tone as he asked, "Are you okay? Really? You seem a little . . . distant."

He watched her sigh audibly, ornate helm turning away from him briefly as she admitted, "I'm . . . I'm just tired. It's been a long ordeal, and . . . everything is just so confusing right now."

Smokescreen nodded. "Yeah. I hear ya. Well, I just wanted to let you know that if you ever need someone to talk to about the cortical psychic patch, I'm there for you."

Elita blinked wide in surprise at him, helm tilting down to him. "You endured a patch?"

Smokescreen nodded as they slowly came within range of the berth room hangar. "Yeah. This was before our first base fell, and Megatron wanted to know about the Omega Keys." Smokescreen blushed a little. "Eh, I . . . wasn't able to put up as much of a fight as I wanted to . . . But when Knockout yanked the thing off of me, it fried a few memories."

He gave a small shrug as they turned into the berth rooms, pausing in the entrance with her. "It wasn't a brutal disconnection, so I didn't lose much, but I don't remember if I had sires or if I just crawled out of the Well of All Sparks." Smokescreen paused. "No one else knows since I clearly didn't tell anyone here."

Elita's servo rested on his arm. Kindness welled up in her optics. "I am sorry to hear that, Smokescreen."

He just shook his head. "It's all right. I can deal with it . . . But, I just wanted to let you know you're not the only one who's gone through a cortical psychic patch. And clearly, it's happened to more of us than I actually thought. I didn't know Twin Twist was a victim as well."

Elita smiled sadly, saying, "Thank you for your concern, Smokescreen." Looking up to all the berths in the room, she hesitated. "Which berth is mine, again?" she asked, amazed she had forgotten.

"Uh . . ." Smokescreen floundered a moment as he quickly looked at the two berths pushed together in the corner, and Elita's gaze followed his. Blushing brightly, Smokescreen burst, "Wait here!"

Letting her go and hurrying across the room, Smokescreen grabbed the outside berth and dragged it away from the other, separating the lover's berth. He then, still flushing hot as a sun, stammered, "Um, this one's yours."

She nodded, saying, "Thank you," even though she felt troubled on the inside that he clearly had to move her berth away from someone else's. And she had a suspicious she knew exactly who that other berth belonged to if they were all being truthful.

Sad part was, she kinda knew they were.

Allowing Smokescreen to help her the rest of the way, Elita sank down heavily on her berth with a long-suffering sigh, stretching her aching joints and thankful to be off her peds.

Smokescreen lingered uncertainly. "Um . . . Elita, Ma'am, can I ask you to give Optimus a chance?" Elita looked up in surprise at him, and he blushed hotly, stammering, "Well, I mean, he just found you again after you guys had been separated so long, and he really loves you. He really does. So I was hoping you would, you know, give him the chance to prove himself again."

Elita's optics softened at his worry, and she merely said, "I can't promise anything, Smokescreen. No matter what may have happened before, he's a stranger to me now."

"I bet he'll win you back."

Elita's lips twisted up into an unwilling half smile. Would he? She laughed at Smokescreen's confidence, but inwardly she doubted. She had wanted to let him hold her and comfort her—there had been a familiar sense of home in arms she didn't remember snuggling her before. And how was a femme supposed to resist when passion poured out of every fiber of his body, every word, every look? It was enough to make total strangers fall in love.

"Well," she said evasively, "we'll just see how things turn out."

Smokescreen grinned at her undying spunkiness as he excused himself and left back to the main hangar. With a pained grunt, Elita lied on her side, broken leg stretched in its brace but the rest of her curled up.

The berth felt cold.

* * *

><p>"Optimus, I believe it would be best if I went ahead and interrupted Ultra Magnus's stasis."<p>

Deep in his brooding, almost unable to believe he was letting Wheeljack off scot free, he almost didn't register his words.

Almost.

He snapped to a standing position so quickly he reeled around when he turned to look at Ratchet. The medic nodded.

"He's as healthy as I can get him, but I believe the sooner we can get you both bonded, the sooner you will BOTH begin to heal. Would you—"

"Yes."

Ratchet's lips twitched that the Prime didn't even give him the chance to finish the question, but he gladly turned and harrumphed to the rest of the people in the room. "All right, clear out!" Ratchet barked at them. "Optimus and Ultra Magnus will require privacy to reclaim their bond. Out! Out! Shoo!"

With some herding and bots grabbing their charges at the last second, humans and Autobots filed out of the room until it was only the three required—which would soon become two. Tapping on his instruments and carefully monitoring Ultra Magnus's spark as he slowly brought the mech out of stasis, Ratchet was satisfied when no unforeseen difficulties arose. Optimus hovered extremely close, anxiously awaiting his brother's awakening.

Ultra Magnus's level vents slowly became staggered as he came back to the land of the living. He choked out a wheezing gasp before his optics snapped open, more than a little wild.

Optimus grabbed his shoulder when he tried to rise. "Easy, Ultra Magnus," he said as soothingly as possible. Blue optics bored into him, and he smiled in relief at the alert, if a little panicked, optics returning his gaze. "You are safe. I'm here. You're all right."

The fear slowly filtered from Ultra Magnus's optics. His attention was gained when Ratchet performed another scan of his spark chamber, making sure he was stable. His resonators buzzed with static. "Doctor?"

The preoccupied medic gave a brusque rumble. "You check out well," Ratchet informed him shortly. "Rest your vocalizer as much as you can. They should reset and recalibrate within the night. Tomorrow I will put you through a series of physical activities to regain the full functionality of your gears." Setting aside his work in a neat stack so he would know where to find it, Ratchet flicked a servo towards them as he headed out. "Fix your bond. And for Primus's sake, debriefing can take place in the morning, so do NOT try to rally it tonight."

Blinking, trying to quickly keep up with the happenings around him, Ultra Magnus propped himself up on his forearms. The instant the door shut behind Ratchet, he felt a massive mech wrap him up in a tight hug, and if not for the familiar helm burying into his collarbone, Ultra Magnus would have suspected it was someone else.

Relief poured into his being as well. With a soft ventilation, Ultra Magnus returned the hug tightly, spark heavy with emptiness in his chassis.

The younger brother's ventilations seized. "You're all right . . ."

His brow cocked up as he got a better look at the sizable mech hugging him. "You're looking robust."

Optimus gave the briefest of weak laughs before his chassis doors suddenly sprang open, bearing his spark naked to the mech who had been in his spark for all his life. A part of him. And without him, without Elita, without their connections . . . He had nothing. Nothing inside him. And that terrified him because all of his life, someone had always been there in his spark for him to lean on.

"Please," he rasped to his older brother. The Prime's shoulders trembled. "I need you right about now, Magnus. So much has been happening . . ."

Ultra Magnus grunted. "Then at least sit up straight so—" Before he could even finish his request, Optimus had whipped them up to a sitting position with such ease it took him off guard. He wasn't so used to his little brother manhandling him so easily. They used to be the same size, roughly the same design, and now? Well, he supposed that would be explained once he completed the bond.

Opening his chassis as well, he used his smaller fingers to quickly hook their sparks together, and the instant he let his brother back in he was blindsided by passion. A myriad of conflicted emotions raged at him, and for a second, Ultra Magnus couldn't separate his own fears and anger and desperation from Optimus's. Neither one of their souls ended, but were perpetually lost in the desire to find the other.

Then, after the initial mad rush to ingrain each other as deep into each other's sparks as possible, to fill as many broken pieces as possible, to fill up the empty holes, memories began to collide. The most important pieces came up in a disorganized sort of chronological order, filtering and flashing in rapid data bursts that were processed in a matter of clicks.

The enterprise on Earth. Always outnumbered, outgunned, out of resources, out of energon. They fought an uphill battle the entire time. And so many relics from Cybertron. Unicron. So close to death. Amnesia. Scavenger hunts in the effort to tip the scales. The humans. Hostages. The base falls.

Ultra Magnus felt himself jerk with so many epiphanies and how busy his brother had been this entire time. Feeling Optimus stiffening and his hands clamping down harder, Ultra Magnus held him tighter, sending vast amounts of reassurance for the things he was reliving in his stead.

Primus, so much pain. Every synapse of his body. His brother was in agony, and so close to death. His spark rolled over in its grave, terrified of what had almost happened without his knowing, and then, ah, so THAT'S how his little brother got bigger than him! Triumph. Betrayal. The Predacon, and the sinister promise of more to come, and—

Oh Primus.

Elita.

For Optimus, the memories picked up exactly when the last of Cybertron fell. So many Wreckers had fallen protecting Iacon. And now, they were fleeing with their leader protecting them to his last breath. He was taken captive and then—

Optimus's body jerked and trembled when the bond was broken, but with it, anger rose. Ultra Magnus knew what had broken his bond.

Shockwave.

He was his prisoner. Shockwave had mechanically engineered a way to falsely break bonds. Optimus's hateful vents shook. The madness of it was staggering. The military function of it was insidious. And it had to be what happened to Elita.

But his torture didn't end there. He was Shockwave's captive for quite a lengthy time, the esteemed prize of the scientist. Twisted and mutilated. Put back together. The tortures of pain blurred time, and he faded in and out. It stayed that way, confused and dark and despairing until black. Stasis. Awakening and drowning, and then stasis again.

And at last, the welcoming and worried optics of his brother he had thought he would never see again.

Burying his face into Ultra Magnus and holding him tightly, Optimus tried to fight the relieved tears that wanted to slip from his optics. Considering his circumstances, he was more than a little overwhelmed, and he felt a servo cover the back of his helm, pulling him closer.

A troubled rumble shook Ultra Magnus's chassis, tickling his audio receptors. "Everything's going to be all right."

Optimus's cycles shifted at the words he had needed to hear for so long. He lifted his helm to press his cheek against his brother's. "Thank you," he murmured back.

They didn't move from their wrapped embrace. "You've grown," Ultra Magnus said quietly. And he didn't mean just physically. He felt him in his spark. Changed. Different. More mature. Wiser. Weighted with hardship.

Optimus rested against him with a tired sigh, relieved to let go of his leader's façade for just a few minutes. "I had to."

A tender servo gently kneaded behind his stiff neck. Ultra Magnus released a blasting vent, finally saying, "If the patch ripped Elita's memories of you, then she does not realize I am her brother-in-spark?"

When an uneven shudder shivered through Optimus at the reminder of what battle he was now fighting, he nodded, whispering, "I presume so."

Ultra Magnus passed a soothing hand down his back. "It won't be hard for you to capture her spark again. So I challenge you to do it in less than a month." Optimus finally lifted his helm to look his brother in his optics. He nodded, resonators buzzing a little. "Tell her about your relationship. What it was like. How you met. The moment you couldn't live without her. The hardships you have endured. Where and when you bonded for the first time. Show her your love in everything you do."

Optimus nodded, spark swirling around his brother's restlessly, taking comfort in his presence. "I will."

Of unspoken agreement, they both returned to cuddling each other. The hangar was theirs that night, full of quiet conversation that filled the silence. They spoke of their fears, their pains, their worries; they spoke of their hopes, loves, and joys. The night extended with enduring brotherly love as they caught up on the time missed. The light of their sparks danced, caught between their chassis.

They never moved from their intimate embrace.


	60. Meant

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you much to my newest followers/favers! FunkyMonkey19, Beatrice Den, kittycatcalamity, Azul the blue, and Mr. KR-18!**

**Oodles of love and thanks to my reviewers: lolistarkiller, JEMILYLOVER1234, Miko873, Spiritstrike, MajorWanderer, Ardianna, kittycatcalamity, AutoTechnoCon98, Lewascan2, Azul the blue, Sounddrive, strikehead1454, Grace, Foxbear, A Fire Bending Tiger, The Warrior of Hope, Boss Bot 97, Zypherion-DeathNova, ZeDancingHobbit, and Kuurankukka! 3 It's a big long chapter, so review again!**

_**"And I still think that we were meant to be  
>(We were destined to be)<br>Ooh-oh, lie to me now.  
>I still dream that you were meant for me<br>(I was made for your love)  
>Hey, why would you doubt?"<strong>_

_**Meant_**_**Elizaveta**

* * *

><p>To say Optimus was overprotective of Elita was an understatement.<p>

Ratchet chalked it up to the spark break. He was suffering a bit from panic attacks if she was gone from his sight for too long, and it soon became a rule of thumb for no mech to be alone with her. Smokescreen had been the first unfortunate mech to bear the brunt of Optimus's jealousy. It was a dangerous thing, and Optimus had approached the younger mech as if he had provoked him.

Every time, it was as if his breath was stopping when he saw her with someone else. It made him crazy—she was relaxed with the others, but not him. She smiled for the others, not him. He wanted to hide her from the others in his embrace, to hide her from the others' looks, as if they were wolves on the hunt. He was so ready to become violent just for her, and with agitated stare and cutting tension he asserted himself to the others. If they desired her, they would have to win against him first.

Which was an utterly ridiculous idea. Optimus had no competition, and it was completely clear that no one would dare to even THINK to make a move for Elita. Not that they wanted to. They wanted Optimus and Elita happy as they had been before.

It was when Optimus had literally growled at Ultra Magnus for getting too close to her that his older brother sat him down and told him how juvenile he was being.

Granted, Optimus could only do so much to keep himself in check with the severe spark break influencing his emotions so much. But Ratchet DID keep praising him for how extremely well he had a lid on things. Fresh, raw spark break had a way of unmaking mechs until they didn't know who they were, but Optimus was well under control of his feelings and actions.

Everyone suspected that was the only reason Ratchet didn't take a wrench to Optimus's helm anytime he bothered them.

On the other hand, Wheeljack suffered daily. The first day, he was visited by everyone. EVERYONE. Smokescreen was happy to see him back, was ready for Ratchet to set his processor straight already, and reported that he had painted Miko's nails of his own free will to help cheer her up when he was gone. Bumblebee was happy to see him too, and he and Raf offered him the chance to play with them to which he vehemently declined. Miko stayed outside of his cell all the time, refusing to give him his space. She adamantly declared that he was stuck with her.

Prowl visited at a quieter time. He sat down and worked on a datapad in his presence, and only gave a slight tip of his helm to acknowledge Wheeljack. Once finished, he left.

Twin Twist came. He stared at him until Wheeljack looked away and ignored him, and eventually he left without being able to say a word. Optimus checked on him too, asking in one of the most patronizing tones Wheeljack had ever heard if he was enjoying his stay. A few choice words from Wheeljack, and Optimus just smiled thinly and went away again.

He came back with Elita.

She thanked him for rescuing her. He denied it. She laughed at him. She shied away from Optimus when the mech got too close. She sent her best wishes that he would get well soon, and left with the Hulk in tow.

Arcee came and glared for a second, tried to say something, and then turned on her heel and stomped out before even ten seconds had passed. Jack came, apologized for Arcee's behavior, blamed it on Wheeljack, and told him he had to set things right or they would never be on good terms again. Wheeljack told the human to stow it, and Jack left. Ratchet came, asked if he would let him run diagnostics to determine the problem, and Wheeljack told the Doc of Doom to shove it up someone else's tailpipe.

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Are you ever going to talk to me?"

"No!"

"Then I'm not going to shut up."

Wheeljack groaned, nearly desperate as his helm thunked against the wall. He hadn't even gotten a good night's recharge! The annoying little human had kept him up all night with her incessant chatter, and now on top of that, he couldn't get any sleep when SHE had gotten sleep because Bumblebee and Smokescreen had come to annoy him again! Then, when he was just settling down for a good recharge . . .

That human again.

And her stupid pig tails.

Her mouth NEVER STOPPED. Wheeljack had never been so thoroughly annoyed in all his life, and he was seriously considering lopping his own audio receptors off. If just for the sake of getting some recharge.

"So, do you want to hear more about the Wreckers? I've already told you the Battle of Darkmount Pass, so I'll have to see if I can remember another—"

Wheeljack groaned loudly his displeasure. "NO. I don't WANT to hear anything more, I just wanna get a little bit of recharge!"

"But you GOT some recharge!" Miko persisted with a smile. He narrowed his optics. She knew exactly what she was doing. "You were recharging when I came in!"

"Why are you doing this to me?" he snapped. He strode up to the force field caging him in and glared down at the human on the other side. "You're doing it on purpose."

She gave a slight shrug. "Oh, I don't know, how about for all the times I lost sleep because I was crying because you were being a complete aft?"

Wheeljack growled, Synthen prickling angrily beneath the surface. "Get over it. And leave me alone."

"No can do!" Her insufferably cheerful voice grated on his audios. "Visiting hours are all 24 hours of the day, remember?"

Wheeljack groaned and threw himself face flat down on the floor. "Leave me here to die."

"No thank you!" Miko smiled brightly again, secretly laughing on the inside because she thought it was cute that he was under the thumb of her power. "I think I'd rather stick with you. Now! I need to ask a HUGE favor of you." When Wheeljack refused to respond, Miko persisted with, "Wheeljack. Wheeljack. Wheeljack! Wheeljack! Wheeljack! Jackie! Hey, Jackie! WHEELJACK!"

"WHAT!?"

"I have a favor I need of you!"

Grunting in agitation and sitting up, Wheeljack fixed her with the darkest glare he could. The heat of anger in his optics could have burned molten steel, but Miko barely batted an eyelash at him. "I need you to keep a secret."

He snorted and rolled his optics. "And you expect me to care why?"

"Because I need you to look out for Prowl."

Before he could stop it, an incredulous and amused laugh fell out of his mouth with dripping sarcasm. "Dear Primus! I would just HATE it if something happened to ol' Tight Aft!"

"Oh, stop being so stupid," Miko said with a huff. She frowned. "Wheeljack, you have to keep this secret."

"Right."

"I'm serious."

"And so am I!" he said with just as much sarcasm as before. "Serious as a spark attack! I won't tell ANYONE."

"WHEELJACK."

When she glared at him he glared right back. For a minute, neither person backed down, and it got to the point that Miko's eyelids twitched with the urge to blink and wet her eyes. However, it was Wheeljack that huffed and looked away first, unable to fathom how those stupid caramel eyes did such things to him. "What?"

"Prowl's blind."

Wheeljack glanced over at her again.

Rubbing her eyes and blinking rapidly, Miko said, "No, I mean, he's not blind, but . . . he's really close to being blind. His visor lets him see."

"And this matters to me, why?"

Fed up with his bad attitude, Miko huffed and crossed her arms. "Because I'm asking you to watch out for him, that's why! I just want you to watch him. If his visor's shattered, he's not gonna be able to see, and I don't want anything bad happening to him if something goes wrong in combat, all right?"

Her concern over the police bot made him angry. No . . . Jealous. He turned away from her. "Sure. Whatever."

"I mean it."

"Okay! Primus . . ."

Miko studied him a moment longer, gauging his sincerity. After finding something she liked in his disgruntled look, she stood up. "Okay. Good." She paused. Then, she nodded. "Yup. I'll be right back!"

His head snapped up. "What?"

She nodded, briefly pulling at her underwear that was riding up. "Yup. I'm gonna see if I can persuade Optimus to let you out! You'll like it a lot better once you're not on lockdown, and I have this way of getting what I want."

Wheeljack snorted and crossed his arms. "Right. Have fun with that."

"I will!" she replied chipperly.

For a second, he watched her go. Then, "Miko, wait!" She stopped and turned back in question, and Wheeljack's jaw snapped shut. "I need you to . . ."

When he failed to complete his thought, Miko shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah?"

He bit his glossia. Hard. "I need you to . . . I need you to fetch—I need you to go get—" His glossia twisted. "Ratchet."

Surprise flickered across her face. Then, she grinned. "I'm on it!" and she scampered out at lightning quick speeds. Wheeljack groaned, dropping his face in his hands. Here he thought he might have had a couple minutes to steel himself, and then she goes off RUNNING as fast as she could . . .

A tiny tremble ran up his spine. Exactly why he was doing this, he wasn't quite sure . . . Maybe it was because of Miko, he didn't rightly know! But before he could try to make sense of it in his mind, he heard the medic's footfalls in the room. Wheeljack bolted to his peds and backed away from him even with the force field in between them.

Ratchet placed his servos on his hips and looked at him. "Yes? You wanted to see me?"

After a moment of debating if he wanted to pull his katanas for protection, Wheeljack bypassed it and instead reached into his subspace. He left his Neurocaroxic line safely tucked away, but he pulled out the datapad. He held it up for him. Ratchet's optics shuttered.

"The Decepticon file of me."

Ratchet paused. Then, reaching over, he grabbed three circular items tucked away. He attached two a few feet apart on the floor and the other one about a foot off the ground. The suction circles activated with the push of a button, cutting a small opening in the force field, commonly used items to push energon in to prisoners. Wheeljack slid the datapad out to him.

He removed the circles, and the force field returned to normal. In his curiosity, Ratchet immediately turned the pad on and began to flick through the contents with a medic's precision, devouring every word that detailed Wheeljack's condition.

"That's all of it," Wheeljack said, warily watching him. "Do with it what you want. And go away, you're creeping me out."

The medic's lips pressed as his optics roved over the extensive details. Instead of gracing Wheeljack with a response, Ratchet instead jacked into the datapad, downloaded the files into his main drives, and then uploaded some files. Turning back on the circles, Ratchet slid the datapad back. Wheeljack frowned at it as if it was made of Tox-En.

"Recon for recon," Ratchet told him. "Those are your files I've kept as an Autobot. Feel free to indulge yourself. Will that be all?"

His processor prickled with him in the room. "Get out."

Ratchet again ignored his rudeness and escorted himself out with a troubled processor.

Wheeljack stared at the datapad left on the floor.

And he stared at it. Distrusting, in fact. If it came from the Doctor of Doom, he knew not to trust it. He knew not to even touch it. But it was so Primus-forsakenly TEMPTING! Wheeljack began to pace the room, spark stuttering in intimidation.

What could possibly be on it? If it was a detailed account on what Ratchet had done to him in the torture chambers, Wheeljack would snap the thing. He didn't need a reminder! But he said it was all the files. Everything about him, contained in one datapad, according to the Autobot side.

Frustration rose. What was he waiting for? He wanted to know the truth! Right? Then he needed BOTH sides of this, Autobot and 'Con! So why was he so afraid to look at the contents?

"Here, I'll help you out—you're afraid that the Autobots might be truthful."

Wheeljack whipped around. "Primus alive, if you don't leave me the frag alone—!"

"Then look at the pad." This time, he was sitting in the corner of the room, idly lighting a cigarette. "What's there to be AFRAID of, Jackie?"

"I'm not afraid," he growled dangerously, Synthen beginning to rush at the very sight of the mech that had hounded his every waking hour.

The Chief's tired lips quirked up just slightly. "You're not, are you? Then why won't you look at it?"

His dentures ground. "I'll look at it on my own time."

White teeth bit down on the cigar, taking a lazy puff and letting the smoke float out of the edges of his mouth. "Is that so? Well then, would you like me to tell you why you're afraid?"

"I don't care!"

The Chief chuckled, and he tipped his cowboy hat up from the driver's seat of the battered pickup. "Fine. Then let's entertain a thought: what happens if it's the Autobots that are truthful?" Against his will, a small shiver worked its way up his back and through his wing kibble. "You'll have done some pretty unforgivable things to them, won't you? And you know the Decepticons have messed with your processor. You know they were messing around in your memories, switching things here and there. You're secretly afraid that the Autobots really ARE the people you care about most, and knowing the transgressions you carry within yourself . . ." He tutted his tongue. "Sad, isn't it?"

Wheeljack cycled in a very tense breath, almost unable to breathe around the implications he was presenting. "It's just a datapad," he said back. "Information. He could have tampered with any of it. Made it look however he wanted to. So could the Decepticons."

"The Decepticons weren't THERE to tamper with it, Wheeljack," the Chief reminded him with infuriating calm. "And you watched Ratchet pull it right from his memory banks. There was no chance for him to tamper with it."

His dentures ground tightly. "It's still just information. I know what—"

"What the Decepticons WANT you to know?"

"Shut up!" Wheeljack snapped, sick of having to justify himself to every person that came along. "I can think it through by myself, and I don't need you haunting my every movement, got it? I don't need you, I don't want you, and you need to get the frag out! Got it? Scram!"

The Chief grunted and knocked some ash off the edge of his cigar. "Might want to get rid of that Synthen in your systems, too," he remarked at last. But with that, he faded from existence, leaving Wheeljack alone as he had wanted.

Alone, Wheeljack turned back to the datapad laying inconspicuously on the floor. He swallowed, but he set his jaw. It was just another set of information. It didn't prove anything. He knew what he thought, he knew what he felt . . . And if he couldn't trust his own thoughts, like the Chief insinuated, who could he trust?

Picking up the pad, Wheeljack turned it on. The first entry was simple. Just a regular check up, standard. He actually expected the most of his file to be that, but lo and behold, the second entry was a critical wound. He smirked to himself. Yeah, he'd be into the thick of trouble first thing, wouldn't he?

It detailed a couple bullet wounds, but a grenade to the back had ravaged his protoform for days on end. Interesting. He never turned his back on an enemy for anything. Then, for a brief period of time, it was nothing but standard updates, though they never came in on regular dates. That sounded like him, too. He hated checkups.

Then, another life threatening wound. Numerous little wounds, evident of a hard fought battle. But he had been run through. It nearly killed him. His spark wavelengths . . . Wheeljack's brow darkened. Sitting down and hunkering for a stay as he consumed the contents of the datapad, Wheeljack stared at the critical state that his spark had apparently been in, only the thirteenth entry in. Spark fracture. Incredibly close to spark break. But as he read the readings, he scoffed to himself. There was no way for anyone to survive something like that. It was ridiculous. It wasn't plausible.

A brief relapse, and then—His mind chugged to a halt. He stared at the apparent readings of his spark. What in the PIT was THAT? His spark nearly went volatile on him? Why in the Pit—Wheeljack opened up a note attached to the file.

_Words of choice: "My humanspark." Highly aggressive and possessive. Spark only placated when in contact with Miko. Prescribing her for a time._

Wheeljack frowned, grunting in irritation. That was all? What the frag did that mean? HIS humanspark? What the Pit was a humanspark?

He paused. She had said they were bonded.

_I've come close to your spark numerous times, and there was definitely one time you legit had a hissy-fit spaz attack and locked me in your spark chamber, so it's very true. I'll have Ratchet bring you the history of it on a datapad and you can look through it all you like._

Wheeljack stared.

_You can't be fragging with me._

Wheeljack vented tightly. That was ridiculous. There was just . . . NO WAY . . . Primus, he couldn't even think that out in his mind! Brusquely brushing over the file, he continued on his way, unwilling to dwell on that for too long.

There were numerous little things all filed beneath the word "Experimenting" in which he had clearly sustained damage during his experiments. Whatever he had been experimenting on. Several more checkups littered here and there. And then—

What?

Another anomaly. This time, his spark was dipping into the critical ranges again, and then, the wave turned bright blue again with large, swooping curves, a dramatic shift in less than a click. At the height of the wave was a note.

_I love you._

Choosing to ignore what that clearly meant, Wheeljack just smirked. Awful cozy of the medic, huh . . . The wavelengths of his spark stayed consistently calm after that. Primus, his sloital artery's reading was different too. It read . . .

Wheeljack slowed.

His numb fingers almost dropped the datapad.

_I'm bonded?_

There was another note. Wheeljack swallowed stiffly, and he coerced his hand to click on the note and read it. It was lengthy. More detailed than the ones dropped before, and dated.

_Wheeljack has created an artificial paternal spark bond with Miko. Spark bonding between Cybertronians and humans has never been documented until this moment, and is a perplexing incident. As humans possess no spark, such a bond should be inconceivable, yet Wheeljack has achieved it. His attachment to Miko has always been stronger than usual, and it has come to the point that he cares so fiercely about her that his thoughts and emotions make his spark fluctuate._

_ The origins of this bond is not known. Several origin points have been suggested between myself and the patient: when Bulkhead died; when Wheeljack showed his spark to Miko; when Dreadwing almost killed them both._

_ In my opinion, the connection happened before Dreadwing tried to kill them both. His spark was already reacting violently to the loss of Miko's company. (Refer back to entry 13)_

_ Common gestures include holding Miko near to his spark chamber. Could also play a key factor in strengthening the bond over time. _

_ Despite the fact that it is an artificial bond, the readings and reactions are very real. Having experienced four different spark fractures already, I am afraid his spark will not be able to take the strain of a spark break with Miko's impending death, whether of sickness or of old age. Humans live an impeccably short life. Wheeljack may or may not only be alive for one more vorn unless he proves a fortitude unheard of in the medical field._

_ I will monitor the situation and Wheeljack's development. And perhaps, I will pray to Primus. It will take a miracle for this particular situation not to end in tragedy._

Wheeljack felt his throat close off. Slowly, he sat the datapad down, unable to look at the last two updates yet. Servos shaking, he opened up his spark chamber and peered into it again. He carefully counted his spark fractures. Five.

Empty blue optics rose up in his mind's eye. His throat closed off.

He knew who that last fracture had to belong to.

He bolted to his peds. A slight panic began to steal over his entire being, and he paced back and forth, and he shut his spark chamber, unable to look at the mess of his spark. It couldn't be true, by Primus, it couldn't! He couldn't accept that as the truth. It was too twisted, he couldn't have gone through all of that and survived. If that was true . . . and what he had done . . . what the Decepticon's had done . . .

The force of it brought him to his knees. His hands stole up over his face, and he bowed over on the floor, throat working hard around a tight lump.

It couldn't be true . . . It couldn't . . . He couldn't accept that as the truth now. Frustration and anger rose with the rising sense of despair. No, Primus no! If that was . . . He couldn't . . .

With a consumed cry, he threw the datapad across his cell. It crashed into the wall and shattered, breaking into pieces, leaving the truth broken on the floor. Agitated and grief-stricken, Wheeljack began to pace the room again, absolutely shaking with passions.

It didn't make sense. But it did. How could you fight fact? He felt it, he felt what he was supposed to, but he didn't? If Ratchet had saved him so many times, why was he associated with his torture? Why was he so afraid of him if he had been saved so many times? If all this had happened with Miko, they why didn't he remember it? He carried a different past in his mind! Why did they present him with something else that made complete sense that had never happened?

Frustration pressed down.

_I don't understand._

* * *

><p>He had actually . . . left her alone for most of the day. Of course, he checked in regularly on her, per his usual, but Elita felt a little better now that he had honored her request for a little space.<p>

Currently, she was engrossed in her duties as—apparently—General of the Autobot army. She didn't remember being that high of rank, second to only the Prime. She was even above Ultra Magnus as Lieutenant General. She had even caught Bumblebee off guard once as he rapidly switched his words from "Lady Prime" back to General.

Mildly rubbing her temple, Elita tried to focus on documenting her abduction as much as she could for the record, but she honestly couldn't focus. Number one, she didn't WANT to remember what had happened, hazy as it might be. Number two, she was so certain she didn't want to finish this that she almost put it aside for OTHER busy work. Number three—

Heavy ped steps made her look up, and she straightened immediately when she found Optimus coming to stand in front of her. "Optimus," she said, not sure what to say beyond that.

He inclined his body towards her. "Hello, Elita. Do you have a moment?"

She glanced down on the work she didn't want to do. She looked back up at him. "Well, yes. Is there something you need?"

"No," he said kindly. "But may I sit with you?"

Glancing out in the room, Elita's optics quickly flicked over the room, noting Ratchet consumed in the Synthetic Energon formula. The only other people in the room were Raf and Bumblebee, the young mech having already completed his scouting missions, Jack off with Arcee, and Miko was finally sleeping after staying up all night with Wheeljack and then trying to combat Optimus's wit into letting Wheeljack roam free. Knowing others were in the room with them, so she wouldn't be alone with him, comforted her, and she scooted over, allowing him to sit beside her. Absently, she laid the datapad down on the table.

For a moment, Optimus seemed to collect himself. His sweet baritone suddenly picked up, "Would you like to hear how we first met?"

Elita blinked over at him. "Oh, uh . . . All right."

"Do you remember Jazz?"

Elita's lips twitched. "Who could forget him?"

Optimus's mouth curved up at the edges. "Of course, you and he worked together as cultural investigators." He turned a look at her, arching a brow. "And of course, if Jazz's streak of bending the rules was bad, I had no idea exactly how much worse a certain, young pink femme was."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her optics back at him. "Is that a jibe at how thorough my job was?" she said back, not even realizing the light tease hidden in her voice. She tossed her helm and looked away from him, crossing her arms. "Ha! I did my job VERY well, thank you very much."

"I never said you didn't," Optimus said with a gentle smile. "In fact, you most likely did it TOO well. You took the kind of risks no one else did."

Elita shrugged a small shoulder. "Cultural investigators could get away with it if they made a strong enough case."

"And you have always had the perfect tongue to diffuse tensions . . ." Optimus shook his head, full attention focused on Elita, and no one else. "We first met through Jazz, as he was my best friend as well. Do you know what he said to me, concerning you?"

Elita closed her optics tight before she peeked over at Optimus. "That doesn't bode well, whatever it is."

A deep chuckle made gooseflesh rise up on her protoform. "It was hardly a blow to you as it was to me. He told me, 'Orion! I've finally figured it out! I've got this friend Ariel, and you guys are a match made from the Well! She'll get you out of your stringent little rules easy!'"

Before she could stop it, a disbelieving laugh leapt from her lips. "Oh Primus! That little petro rabbit—we are going to have a talk when I get my servos on him! A match made from the—oh, he is NEVER going to hear the end of it from me!"

Optimus smiled, optics warming that they were finally talking in a more relaxed environment than they had been. "He was going to take me to meet you, but it turns out you had traveled abroad to do some firsthand investigating." His blue optics drilled into her, disapproving. "Your culture of choice was the gladiators."

Elita immediately smiled fondly in remembrance. Leaning back on her hands, she admitted, "That was a fantastic time. I enjoyed the little taste of espionage I got, sneaking around, illegal conversations . . ." She glanced over at Optimus, waggling her brows at him. "And possibly a little bit of blackmail and bribery, but you never heard it from my lips."

A disapproving grumble spilled from Optimus's chassis as he frowned and shook his head at her. "The amount of trouble you managed to get yourself into was obscene. Weren't you the one to contact Jazz and tell him you were 'neck deep in scrap' with the gladiators not appreciating how you were not there to help them, but merely document them?"

"Hm." Her brows pinched. "Well, I suppose you could remember it like that, but I think I managed quite well on my own. I didn't need any help."

Optimus actually laughed at that, optics sparkling with mischief at the familiar words she always defended herself. "Says the femme that, when I finally found you, greeted me by tackling me and pressing an illegal blade to my chassis!"

Elita fought back a smile. "Is that how it happened? It doesn't seem too bright on my part. I would have never been able to get to your spark with that teeny little knife."

Optimus chuckled warmly again, leaning back as he basked in the memory of feisty Ariel pinning his unsuspecting librarian self to the ground. "I think you had my spark at that very moment," Optimus confessed for the second time in his life. "You literally knocked me off my peds, both physically and mentally. I was thoroughly impressed, though intimidated by how willingly you broke the rules and law. Besides," and he sent her a sideways glance, voice dipping against his will, "a dominant femme is utterly attractive."

She JUST managed to keep herself from blushing. "Is that a gentlemanly way of telling me I'm smoking hot?"

He picked up on her tiniest flirt. "Considering I am absolutely certain you can still dominate me."

Catching the double meaning of those words, the heat began to scratch up her cheeks. She dominated him? Her optics cut swiftly to the powerfully built mech next to her, drawing over the lascivious curve of his tapered waist before she fixed them elsewhere. "I'm not quite so sure. You recently got an upgrade on your frame, yes? I'm afraid you're probably a bit too big for me to knock down anymore."

"Elita." He leaned just the fraction of an inch closer, blue optics serious and gaze somber. In completely level voice, he asked gravely, "Are you calling me fat?"

Elita sputtered on a choked laugh before she collapsed into giggles, drawing Ratchet's attention briefly before the mech fought a smile and turned back to the computer. In fact, most of the bots had returned from their scouting at this point, all riveted for a second at Elita's laughter—the Prime had cracked a joke?

It took Elita a moment longer to contain herself, but she finally took a calming breath before smiling and shaking her head at Optimus. "Well, aren't you the winsome mech! I surely scored myself a keeper, didn't I?"

Optimus chuckled again, and his luminous optics lidded slightly as he said suggestively, "Don't underestimate me, Elita. You fell for me EXCEPTIONALLY hard."

A tiny shiver chased its way up her spine at the deep PURR of his voice. "Well, you'll have to try harder than that," she managed to shoot back saucily, trying to still her spark that was sputtering like a school girl's. "I presume we got out of Kaon as I remember?"

"With a third wheeler," Optimus said, relaxing back into a small smile. "I slowed you and Jazz down more than I was a help. But you piqued my interest in the gladiators. I bought a copy of the newspaper that published the truncated version of your endeavors. As an archivist, I looked up the full edition to read, and I was amazed at your findings. I enjoyed it so much I further searched into your works and read to my spark's content." He paused before daring to add, "I fell in love with the intellect of your mind first."

Elita felt the heat tingle from the tips of her toes to the tips of the antenna on her ornate helm. Trying and failing miserably not to blush, Elita cleared her throat, saying, "If you keep talking like that, I might have to get back to work."

"I'm sorry," he replied immediately. "That was terribly forward." Before he or she could continue, they heard a frustrated, "Gah, Prowl, really—" and a scoff of anger. Optimus's helm drew up to see Arcee and Prowl speaking, and he frowned at the expressions on their faces. They were arguing. Standing, he apologized, "Please, excuse me, Elita."

She let him go, a little relieved to see him go after he had managed to twist her emotions up. She took the chance to steady her unsteady feelings, and Optimus came to stand before Prowl and Arcee. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes—"

"No—"

Both paused. Prowl pinched his brow. "Optimus, sir, there was no need to abandon Elita. We can handle this."

"No we can't!" Arcee cut in sharply. She turned to Optimus, saying before Prowl could get irritated, "Optimus, I am requesting to visit Wheeljack, and Prowl will not let me."

Optimus glanced between them and raised his brow at her. "Visiting hours are all hours, Arcee."

Her lips pressed, and she didn't directly look him in his optics. "I requested to be alone with him for privacy," she said, beating further around the bush.

He kept his gaze on her. "Yes?" When nothing more was forthcoming, Optimus almost thought that was the rest of the argument—but no. He put it together slowly in his mind. "Was there a certain amount of allot time you requested?"

Her cheek twitched. "All night—"

"She is requesting a conjugal visit," Prowl interrupted dryly, taking some form of twisted amusement in Arcee's squirming. "I have denied her request."

"On what basis?" Optimus asked, just to touch base.

"Only one of many reasons, the very obvious basis that the last time Arcee went to see Wheeljack, even with supervision, he ran her through and nearly killed her."

Arcee narrowed her optics accusingly at Prowl, and Optimus fixed his gaze back on the blue two wheeler. She huffed. "He's not going to run me through."

"And how do you know that?" Prowl asked sharply.

"I just know!" she snapped back before she could stop herself. She cycled a tense breath. "Optimus, please. I am willing to take the risk, but I am certain he isn't going to hurt me." _Much. _"I think it may be the only way for me to make him understand what—if we—he can't deny it if—I don't need to explain my relationship with him to either of you."

Optimus's brow rose at her words, edging up on insubordination, and it grated on Prowl's thin nerves. "Arcee—"

"Prowl." The mech snapped to attention immediately. Optimus cycled a slow vent, and finally, he said, "Arcee, your request is denied."

Arcee's jaw slacked slightly before it clacked back shut in the next nanoclick. "Optimus, you can't truly be serious."

The Prime fixed his gaze on Arcee, nodding. "I am serious. But know that I do not think it is the most prudent course of action."

"Well, I think it is," a voice suddenly chirped up. All three of them turned to see Elita hobbling up. She crossed her arms at them. "If the best course of action to get MY memories back is to interface with you," and she arched an almost accusing brow at Optimus, "then it is perfectly fine for her to want to interface with Wheeljack to get HIS memories back."

She effectively shut both mechs up without a single bat of her optics. Elita turned a smile on Arcee, saying, "Your request is approved. Knock him off his feet."

Optimus took a tight, worried cycle. "Elita—"

"Don't you even try to annul this, Optimus," she said, turning her frown back on him. "If you try it, that's hypocrisy. And that goes for you too, Prowl."

Optimus stared at her for a moment longer, whipped back down to size. Realizing he had already undone the progress he had made with her before, Optimus felt his shoulders slump. "I apologize," he said softly to her—Elita, not Arcee. "It was not my place."

He turned and left the group, leaving Elita feeling the touch of guilt teasing up on the edges of her spark. She had never seen someone so . . . downtrodden before. Resolving to dwell on it later, Elita turned back to Arcee with a gracious smile. "Now, let's go and let you work your magic. And don't be afraid to contact us if something goes wrong."

Leading Arcee out of the hangar, both femmes were quiet, each wrapped up in their own processors at the events happening around them. Elita finally glanced over to the smaller femme who adjusted her walking pace to match her slower limp.

"Are you all right?"

Arcee jumped and then nodded. "Yes. A little nervous, but . . . It'll work out." She sent a sideways glance back. "How are you?"

Elita shifted, lips pursing as she genuinely thought on the question. "A little nervous," she admitted a mite sheepishly. "But . . . I'll work out. Whatever happens."

Entering the brig, Wheeljack immediately whirled around at the sound of their ped steps. Arcee's optics flicked to the shattered datapad on the floor before focusing on Wheeljack.

"What do you want?" he barked. Ah, that didn't bode well, his already being aggravated . . . "I'm not in the mood, so frag off!"

"You have a conjugal visitor," Elita replied calmly as she grabbed the circles and placed them against the force field. She paused before activating them, glancing at Arcee. "Would you like me to disable his weapons?"

Arcee bit her lip. This was a matter of trust—even without his weapons, he could still very well kill her if she wasn't careful. But that wasn't the point, anyways. The point was to let him know he could kill her at any moment he wished and have him choose not to. She shook her head, keeping her optics on his. The contact sizzled. Elita sighed under her breath, muttering, "Somehow, I knew you'd say that . . ."

Activating the circles, the force field was cut so Arcee could walk through, and once through, Elita disabled it, locking Arcee in with Wheeljack. "Don't hesitate to call for an emergency or whenever you are ready to leave," Elita reminded her. Then, she hobbled off on her bum leg, leaving the two alone.

Wheeljack scowled, frustrated and angry that night as he tried to swallow the force of a rather bitter idea of truth. "Scram," he growled at her. "I don't want you here, I don't need you here, and I'm sure you've got better things to do than to hound my every waking moment."

Arcee watched him, a strained vent seeping from her. "What do you want from me?"

Wheeljack laughed sarcastically, and he rolled his optics so hard he might have lost them in his head. "THAT'S your question? I oughta be asking that since I could run you through and still have you come crawling back to me like a glitch."

Arcee glared at him as he swaggered over to lean against the opposite wall, crossing his ankles and leaning cock-surely against it. "Let's get one thing straight," she said flatly. "I'm not your glitch. Never was, never will be. Now, I know what I want from you, but I'm not sure that you know what you want from me. You go from kissing me so passionately you scared even yourself, to running me through on your sword. Now, care to tell me what's going on in that twisted little mind of yours?"

"No," he barked back, lip curling in a sneer.

"Fess it up, Wheeljack," Arcee ground out. She walked towards him, closing some of the distance. "What do you want from me?"

His fingers tightened around his elbows. "I don't know," he finally gritted out.

"You don't know," Arcee mimicked him.

"I don't know!"

Her optics flashed. "You never know!"

He threw his arms up. "How'm I supposed to know when everything in my processor's corrupted and twisted beyond what I can tell? I don't know what I'm supposed to think anymore and now that I'm thinking I want you I just—I—"

Arcee's optics flared at the slip of his glossia. He seemed to catch himself, and his gaze shuttered angrily. "So," Arcee said softly. She swaggered her way up to him, making his optics flick down to her hips before they centered back on her face. "You want me." Her head craned back within inches of his face, dwarfed by his larger frame as he leaned carelessly against the wall. He sneered down at her, jutting his hips cockily, trigger finger twitching. "Why don't you take me?"

Her defiant, close proximity sent heat spreading through his systems. His optics narrowed, and his lip curled. "You're foolish," he snarled at her. "You just really want to tempt fate, don't you?"

Her luminous optics didn't waver from him. "Maybe. Reminds me I'm alive and keeps me from living in the past."

He scoffed at her, shaking his head. "You'd best get back to your recharge room. We don't want any . . . unfortunate accidents." His trigger finger twitched with a bit more intensity.

Arcee shook her head too. "No. I want to get this straight now. The 'Cons tampered with your processor, Wheeljack. Captured you when the Jackhammer was shot down by Starscream's missiles. I don't know all the twisted things they've made you believe, but they can't tamper with your spark. What you feel."

He gave a dark, seductive laugh. "What I feel? I feel like I should break that pretty little neck of yours."

Arcee's pulse jumped. "Is that all you feel?"

"No." When he took a step forward, Arcee shrank back a little even though she kept her optics level with his. He leaned in so close his hot breath tickled her audio receptors. "I feel like I should strip what little armor you wear right now." She shivered under the faint touch of his fingers sliding down her side, over the catches for her armor.

A shaking servo reached out and rested on the front of his chassis. "Is that so?" she whispered.

Intoxicating heat built steadily beneath his armor, causing his fans to kick on. The heat shone in Arcee's face, a blush that was emphasized by the sultry part of her lips. His hand slowly gripped her wrist so hard he wasn't sure he was going to throw her on the floor beneath him or break it. "I want to make you _scream," _he hissed.

She trembled, but she took a step forward, pressing her chassis flush to his, dancing with that lustful flirt of danger. She closed her optics, lifting her lips just a hairsbreadth from his, wanting so bad to taste him, the scars that decorated his body, the sweat just beneath his armor. She didn't think she had ever found him so sexy in all the time she had known him. He was so unpredictable, so violate and raw with passion, teetering on the ledge between pure hate and pure devotion, so close to losing control and either tearing her limb from limb or fucking her into the floor with the others just a hangar away. It was exciting. It was _dangerous. _And she wanted it. All of it. All of him.

Hot breath seared her lips. She pressed into him, wanton with need and arousal stealing over ever fiber of her being. Her systems felt hot and swollen, sensitive to his every touch. "Scream," she repeated breathlessly. "Pain, or ecstasy?"

Wheeljack drew her by that wrist, slinging her away and making her slam into the wall. She braced herself there as he drew before her, slamming his hand into her neck. His optics danced with a wild sort of frenzy, and he leaned close, growling darkly, "Just because I was your lover then doesn't mean I'm your lover now."

Arcee refused to let him intimidate her, and instead, his threatening words seemed to slash heady excitement into her being. She slid a leg between his, feeling the burning heat of his cod. She felt him twitch. "Scream for you to stop," she whispered, antagonizing him, "or scream for more?"

"Both!" he snapped before slamming her into the wall again. She grunted, and when that leg sliding against his cod distracted him too much, his hand pressed harder into her throat, lifting her peds off of the ground.

Arcee's spark sputtered again. Primus, one could be certain he was going to kill her! Still, Arcee let the confrontation unfold, wondering whether it would end with her pushing him too far . . . or just far enough.

Those devastating lips pulled into a languid smirk as Arcee's hands took his, trying to get a cycle in as he crushed her throat. "It would be so easy to snap your neck," he mused to himself. He added pressure, causing her to squirm beneath him. Every touch they made burned like insatiable fire that consumed his soul. He leaned forward, glossia sliding out and trailing up her audio receptor. She shivered. "And you still think that we were meant to be?"

The pressure was crushing her. Her face warped in pain, and her little rasp of, "W-Wheeljack—!" was little more than a wisp of air. Amused, Wheeljack threw her down on the ground without sympathy, optics glinting devilishly as she coughed and wheezed.

He stamped his heel into the back of her knee, causing her to cry out softly and buck, body straining at the pain as he almost crushed her knee until her calf broke apart from her body. "This is the mech you think you're in love with?" When she still couldn't say anything, Wheeljack grabbed her shoulder and forced her to her feet. He grasped her jaw, pulling her so close his breath wafted on her lips. "Your silence is telling. It's either going to heal . . . or its going to kill." He slid his fingers down her back, causing her to tremble and whimper, especially when his touch ghosted across her whale tail. "Do you feel its caress?"

That hand gripping her jaw forced it open, and his glossia plunged in, domineering, ravishing, and Arcee melted into him with a moan, the sultry taste of him driving her processor to the edge.

When he allowed her to breathe again, she panted, "Wheeljack—Forget what you know. Start from here. Start from now. What's real."

"Don't lie to me!" he snarled. Driven by hate or lust, Wheeljack didn't know anymore. His mouth crashed down on hers again, and his hands roamed over her, so lost in passion that he couldn't stop. Her hands gripped his audio receptors, pulling him closer, pressing her seductive curves into him. His processor warred within himself, pulled between pure detestation and erotic desire. He wasn't even aware of unsheathing a katana. He didn't even know how it got to her neck.

Their lips parted. Arcee panted sharply, but she craned her head back, exposing her tender throat to his will and ownership, begging him to take her where they stood. The sharp edge pressed against the sensitive wiring, causing both prickling salacity and a thrill of fear to run through her.

"You're a curious one, Arcee," he grumbled, voice grating with lust and the almost uncontrollable urge to see all her energon pour from her neck like a waterfall. "You're blinding trust is . . ." and he flicked his wrist, causing the sharp edge of his katana to slice through a wire. She twitched and sucked in a breath. "Disappointing."

She didn't try to escape. If anything, she leaned her head back farther, entreating him to do whatever he wanted with her, and his carnal desires dizzied his processor. Slick sweat caused his armor to stick to his protoform even though it was cool in the hangar, but her face was alight with a desirable flush, and her lips were swollen, pleading for more. The temptation to spill her energon and take her for his own libidinous wants overpowered him. His processor hurt—his programming clashed with his desires, making the ability to even stand difficult.

"What is it you want with me?" he mused quietly.

Her hips ground into his, causing him to hiss. "Everything."

Arcee was almost beside herself with lust. She wasn't sure whether Wheeljack was going to molest her or kill her at this point, and she knew the commanders would want her to call them in right now so they could put a stop to it. But Arcee took the gamble. She wasn't going to know if she would be safe until morning.

The sharp edge of his katana turned over, pulling up on a wire. Arcee stiffened and her fingers tightened. With an erotic curl of his glossia, Wheeljack tongued that wire over the razor-like edge of his katana. "I could care less," he grumbled. He trailed the tip of his glossia to the tip of her audio receptor, eliciting another delicious shiver and moan. His blade pulled the wire of her neck taunt. "I still . . . dream . . . that you were meant . . . for me . . ."

He punctuated his slow promise with every craving of his body. He kissed her. He sucked her lips. He licked her audio receptors. He swallowed the sounds of her whimpers. Her body rolled into him.

"Wheeljack . . . I want you . . ."

His arrogant lips curled up. "Really." He sliced through that wire too, causing her to flinch minutely. He leaned down, suckling on the cut edge until the energon flow stopped, her automated repair systems immediately rerouting where her energon went. She twitched beneath him, panting sharply with desire and pain, and the taste of her energon drove him mad. His hands tightened on her and the hilt of his katana.

"Are you going to keep playing, or are you going to frag me already?"

A seductive laugh spilled from his lips. "Right here?" he growled darkly. The tip of his katana pulled up on another wire. "Right now?" He leaned forward, whispering in her audio receptor, "With the others just a hangar away? Kinky."

Arcee shivered. The entire base would hear. She hadn't thought about that. "Then . . . maybe we ought to . . . go somewhere else . . ."

Wheeljack suddenly growled, and he threw his katana across the room, pressing her against the wall, kissing her, stripping her. His processor tipped, so close to bashing her helm in that his hands shook.

"Make me remember!" he hissed. He tore her whale tail off, hand reaching down to grip her aft. "If you care that much, prove it to me!"

Arcee grasped his shoulders, gasping and twitching beneath his power. "W-Wheeljack—! Stop, stop, if we're going to do this, we need to go somewhere else—"

"I don't care who hears!" he snarled. He was only faintly aware of stripping himself as fast as he had her, mouth consuming every part of her body he could find. He growled into her collarbone, hands fondling over her body and making her moan. "If this isn't a lie, prove it to me! Make me remember, Arcee, MAKE me . . ." He jutted his hips, moaning into her unabashedly when her hands trailed down his chassis. "Make me remember . . . Prove it's not a lie . . ." He was kissing her so much, lost in her touch, drowning in her taste, burning with salacious need and desperate for culmination, both of the mind and of the spark. They sank in a wicked tangle of limbs, struggling and giving in, cries muffled by mouths and then escaping with hoarse yells.

He cursed her name. He worshipped her name. His processor dizzied, torn between breaking her neck and taking her all the way, a constant struggle, desperate and passionate as he alternately beat at the ground or touched her seductive body. He moaned his deepest wish to her, voice carrying across the ship.

_"Make me remember . . ."_


	61. Thirst

**Author's Note:**

**AHHH MY COMMISH FOR OHOS IS FINISHED! Thank CuriousCucumber over at deviantart for the wonderful art!**

curious cucumber . deviant (art) (DOT com SLASH) art/Wrecker-Memories-406181509 (holy crap it wouldn't let me put that url in!) It's the new cover for the story.

**On to other things, show lots of love to the newest to the OHOS wagon, TF2Bill, Autobot Chromia, Shadowspeed2020, masamunexyamato, Little Kunai, and Fanatic 97!**

**And OODLES of love to my wonderful reviewers! Miko873, Autobot Chromia, Jaki822, FunkyMonkey19, Spiritstrike, ZeDancingHobbit, Little Kunai, Grace, a Guest, Sounddrive, lolistarkiller, Fanatic97, writergurl616, A Fire Bending Tiger, kittycatcalamity, Filly92, FireReader93, Winterbornbree, Kuurankukka, BossBot97, Tazflyer, ZabuzasGirl, Lewascan2, horselover95, recognizer of unrecognizable, and Azul the Blue!**

_**"I keep on fallin'  
>In and out of love with you<br>I never loved someone  
>The way that I love you"<strong>_

**Fallin'_Alicia Keys**

* * *

><p>Armor was scattered from one end of the room to the other. Arcee didn't mind. In fact, she sighed, quite content where she was sprawled on top of Wheeljack after a . . . heh, a VERY enthralling night.<p>

Ignoring that it was drawing closer to the hour that morning when someone was going to be coming to let her out of the cell, Arcee took a deep breath, breathing as deep as she could of Wheeljack's scent. She had fared well through the night. There were a few bruises along her protoform from where he had gripped her too tightly, patterns of fingerprints on her arms and waist, but they hardly bothered her.

Sitting up slightly, Arcee gazed down at where his optics were shuttered in his recharge. Indulging in the fact that she was finally the one up first for a change, Arcee let her gaze travel over the built frame beneath her. The edge of her lip curled up.

Her Wrecker. All hers.

Idly, she reached a finger out and gently traced the scars on his lips. From there, she traced downwards and dipped her exploring fingers around his neck cables, tracing his collar and past his shoulder. Her touch grazed lightly across the curve of his bicep. As if ticklish, his arms tightened slightly around her, entangling them closer together.

Her spark hummed in contentment. Tracing back over his shoulder, Arcee stroked her way down his chassis, circling his strong pectoral muscles and even teasing herself by fiddling with the latch to his spark chamber. Her fingers dipped lower, smoothing over his firm stomach until her fingers teased dangerously around his hips. Her head cocked leisurely as she began to caress her way back up the body made rugged and stalwart over the years.

Before she could continue, his hand snapped around her wrist. Glancing up at him, she saw him gazing at her with half-lidded optics, drowsy with sleep and heavy with heat.

"Continue that, and we'll be having another round regardless of who walks in."

Arcee felt her optics soften even as her lips curled up. "Someone's a little horny."

He grunted, shifting positions. His voice was rough in the morning. "With you touching me like that . . . Hmph. Enjoying yourself?"

Arcee chuckled softly and leaned down, nuzzling their helms together. She laid the flat of her palms on him, rubbing firmly all the way up his body until she had wrapped her arms around his neck. "Certainly. Aren't you?"

There was a pause. "Arcee . . . You . . ."

When he failed to finish his thought, Arcee leaned back a little to look him in his optics. "What?"

His lidded optics dragged down her body before they settled on her optics again. After a moment, he chose not to say anything at all, and she felt his hand cup her cheek. His fingers, rough with scratches and chipped paint, grazed her cheek and audio receptor. His coarse thumb traced over her supple lips.

Arcee's throat managed to jump just before he kissed her. It was different from the night before. It wasn't harsh, or uncontrolled, or desperate. This time, it was as if the morning glow left his systems idle, not giving the Synthen the chance to rush, and he kissed her slowly, languidly, feeling out every nuance of her mouth. They parted on a soft breath, and Arcee trembled, fingers tightening on him.

Barely a breath away, Wheeljack murmured, "Unless you want to be caught in your protoform, I'd suggest you get dressed."

His voice was a little rougher a little deeper; she would never tire of hearing him PURR.

The tiniest sound of a whimper caught in her chassis. Arcee pressed closer. "Maybe I don't want to get up."

"You need to," he murmured. But he kissed her throat, warming her from the inside out.

Arcee hummed, arching her neck to give him better access to her sweet spots. "If you keep kissing me like that . . ."

Her words made his mouth still its exquisite work. She squeezed her optics shut at that, cringing as she heard him mutter, "There's no need to damage your reputation. Let's get dressed."

Stifling a sigh of resignation, Arcee unwillingly let him help her up, heading off to collect her armor. As she dressed, her optics kept sliding to him, gaze soaking up the sight of his deep, smoky blue protoform. The color was like the height of a stormy, sunset sky, the sunlight playing tricks against the dark, a mesh that was utterly enticing.

And when he turned his back on her to fetch his cod piece, Arcee couldn't help but ogle his expressive back designed so deliciously. He was so broad shouldered, and his biolights ran down and tapered at his lower back, accentuating his waist. His thighs were perfectly sculptured. And she wouldn't ever tire of looking at that tight aft of his, round and smackable. He used to tease her about that—her wanting to grab and smack his aft.

Worse yet, with the Synthen in his systems, he absolutely OOZED danger. He walked with a swagger that was bound to catch any feminine optic. It was a swagger that said he KNEW he caught the optics of the fairer sex; it was a swagger that said he DIDN'T CARE. A femme had to be catatonic not to notice his impressive physique; and dead, not to appreciate it.

He simply looked as if he was chiseled out of a quarry wall.

She tried to drag out the process, just to be with him longer. But when he clipped his armor over his tight aft, she knew it was time to be ready to go. Putting on the last of her armor, Arcee returned to his side.

Arcee shifted, frowning slightly at him. "Are you all right?"

He vented sharply, beginning again. "Arcee . . . You . . ."

Her lips tipped up and she leaned in close, teasing gently, "Wheeljack, I can't read your mind. What is it?"

His optics flickered. His lips pressed, and then he opened his mouth just as the door to the hangar opened up. They both looked over to the doorway, finding Prowl standing there.

There was only a twitch of relief in his face that he hadn't walked in on something more intense, and he nodded his helm. "Are we ready?"

Wheeljack and Arcee glance in between each other, and before Arcee could choose to say anything, Wheeljack nodded. "It's nothing," he told Arcee before he looked to Prowl. "Yeah. We're ready. Well, she is."

Arcee glanced over to Wheeljack uncertainly before she allowed Prowl to set her free of the prison, leaving Wheeljack inside. She was just about to cross to outside when her audio receptors suddenly perked.

"Wait."

She stopped immediately, whirling around so fast she nearly collided with Prowl. Wheeljack was standing at the edge of his cell, optics staring into her so passionately that he nearly bored holes through her.

"You . . ." He wet his lips, and his throat jumped. His brows cinched. "I . . . I was in love with you, wasn't I?"

Arcee blushed sky high at hearing those words for the first time. Her jaw opened. It shut. Then, she hurriedly shoved Prowl out, garnering the mech's sharpest glare before she shut the door on his face.

After a second of pained hesitation, she walked up to the cell, a buzzing voltage of energy separating them. She swallowed. "Y-You . . . Never actually said it before . . ."

He frowned. "Was I saving it to say for a special moment?"

Her spark sputtered with hope. "I—I don't know. I'm not in your processor. I wouldn't know."

She watched his face drop as he tried to work through the new thoughts. He vented once, broad chassis expanding and contracting. He glanced back up.

"And you love me, don't you?"

It was so apparent that Arcee almost couldn't get her vocals to work.

"Yes."

"No," he cut in, coming within a hairsbreadth of the electrical currents. His fervent optics almost crushed her with the sheer amount of passion. "I want you to SAY it. Like you mean it, Arcee."

His voice rasped. Arcee felt her stomach flutter, and her in takes hitched, choking on her nervousness. "I love you," she whispered quietly. Then, realizing her voice was just a wispy rasp, cleared her vocalizer and repeated, "I love you."

An edge of distress cut into Wheeljack's voice. "You love me."

"I love you!" she declared it louder.

His optics flared brightly, crushed halfway between terror and wonder. He strode several steps away, servos shaking as he rubbed his forehead. He nearly dashed back to face her again, spark hitching and squeezing painfully.

"You love me?"

"Damn it, I said I love you, Wheeljack, I love you! I love you!"

He jolted again at the force of her words. A gasp exploded from his lips, and his servos leapt to his helm in shock, optics flaring. He whirled, pacing out and pacing back in. His bright red optics stared at her. "I . . ." He shook his head, dropping his helm. The Decepticon emblem on his chassis flickered mockingly beneath the light. His hand reached up, fingers scratching at the emblem.

"If you could . . ." he husked. He cleared his throat. "If you could . . . I could really use a petition to get me out of this cell. If I'm gonna be an Autobot . . . I need to start getting out around the people I'm supposed to be with."

A smile began to tug at Arcee's lips. Happiness began to bubble up. He . . . he was believing them! She nodded vigorously. "I can do that. I can do that!"

In her haste, she forgot to say goodbye. She rushed out the door, pushing aside a disgruntled Prowl that was left scowling in her wake.

* * *

><p>It took some convincing. But Miko was VERY persistent, and Arcee was very stubborn. And despite hurting and still very much distrusting Wheeljack, Optimus buckled to one person's word:<p>

Elita.

She easily quashed the Prime's reservations and all but MADE the Prime set Wheeljack free around the base. But the first thing he was subject to was the last person on the planet he wanted to see.

Ratchet.

"Well, that datapad was most certainly interesting," Ratchet was saying to him. Wheeljack was literally pressing backwards against the Prime holding his shoulders in place. Ratchet was no means close, but it was enough to unnerve Wheeljack. "It seems the Decepticons have managed to root around in your processor and twist and corrupt nearly every file you've ever had. It's sick, perverse, and a decrepit work of art. To fix all of that, you would have to undergo serious surgery."

"I am NOT about to get under YOUR knife, you creamsicle!"

Ratchet's helm jerked up, and a brow arched at him. "Creamsicle. That's certainly a new one."

The humans, crowded along the nearest gangway, watched in fascination. Miko, most of all. "I like creamsicles," she piped up.

Ratchet grumbled under his breath. As nonchalantly bypassing the nickname as possible, Ratchet continued and scanned Wheeljack. Wheeljack jerked against Optimus holding him in place, spark beginning to run a mile a minute.

"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't look at me as if I were Megatron," Ratchet commented crisply before continuing in the same breath, "You seem to—Where's your Neurocaroxic line?"

There was a still moment as Ratchet stared at the readings, not quite sure what he was seeing was right. Wheeljack cringed when he performed another scan just to be sure. Ratchet frowned. "That wasn't recorded in the files . . ." The medic looked up to Wheeljack, and he frowned. "You already knew, didn't you?"

Wheeljack nodded jerkily, optics round as saucers at the rising anger in Ratchet's optics.

Ratchet sucked in a tight breath. He whirled away, fuming internally as he couldn't help but gesticulate indiscriminately at what that implied. He drew in a ragged breath, struggling to control his raging temper.

"I take it you don't know where it is either."

Wheeljack swallowed. Did he tell? But Ratchet was moving on, pacing restlessly as he muttered under his breath. "Out of all the Pit-fragging things . . . I am going to SKEWER Shockwave when I get my servos on him! The Neurocaroxic line! I don't just have one of those stashed away . . . !"

Jack cleared his throat nervously, wary of provoking the medic in his agitated state. "Um, Ratchet? What's a Neurocaroxic line?"

Ratchet pinched his brow. He vented tightly again. "The Neurocaroxic line is the most important line we as Cybertronians have for our memories. It connects our processors to our sparks, as memories are stored in both. Even if I performed the surgery that would set Wheeljack's processor straight, it would all be moot without his Neurocaroxic line."

Miko looked at Wheeljack. "Why didn't you ever tell me about this?"

"How should I know?" Wheeljack snapped before he could stop himself. The Synthen prickled in his systems, reacting to his agitation.

Miko shrank uncertainly. "It was just a question . . ." Then, when their eyes met, hers frowned, looking harder at him as Ratchet began to warm himself up to a proper rant. Wheeljack shifted and looked away from her brown eyes, but Miko had already seen what she needed.

"You have it, don't you?"

Everyone froze. For a second, all optics settled on Miko, and then every optic shifted to Wheeljack. His lip curled defensively.

Ratchet's plating relaxed then, crisis having been averted. "Well, if that's the case, then we can have you fixed—"

"I told you already," Wheeljack snapped, plating rising defensively. "I'm not getting under your knife, Doc. I'm not letting you cut me open again!"

Ratchet huffed in irritation, crossing his arms. "Don't be so melodramatic, Wheeljack. I haven't ever cut you open, just picked up all the pieces and stitched you back together."

Miko huffed too, mimicking the doctor's position. "Seriously, Wheeljack. We've already been over this. Shockwave was the one that tortured you after Crystal City."

Wheeljack growled, trying to twist away again, but the Prime prevented him from budging. "Look, I'm not gonna-"

"Yes you are!" Miko cut in angrily. "We can fix you!" she shouted, throwing an arm out to Ratchet, stealing the medic's thunder. "We can finally fix you after all of this mess, and you're just being a stubborn dip stick!"

"What'd you call me?"

"A DIP STICK! You're being a stubborn dip stick!" Wheeljack gritted his dentures, jerking at Optimus's hands holding him in place. The Synthen began to buzz, thrumming in his veins. "We can fix you, and I want you fixed! It'll make everything make sense again, and it'll fix everything! All right? You HAVE to get better! I am so DONE with your stubbornness! All right? You've forced me to do things when you knew it was good for me, well, now I'm doing the same to you! Let Ratchet fix you!"

"And just what are you gonna do about it?" Wheeljack sneered back. By Primus, she was fragging ANNOYING! She just got under his metal and messed with his thoughts and emotions like no one else could! "You gonna force me to sit on that berth and just let some stranger root around in my processor?"

"He's not a stranger!" she shot back, cheeks flushing red. Jack and Raf instinctively backed away from her. She pointed her finger at Wheeljack. "He's your medic! You know it! I know you do! He's saved your life so many times you might as well just say you owe him a life debt and be his indentured servant! All right?"

"No, it's NOT all right," Wheeljack snapped.

"And why not?" she shouted.

Wheeljack yanked against Optimus, furious that he was being held in place. "You think this is easy for me? Yes, I'm terrified! I don't know what the frag is up and down anymore, and if you think just laying down and letting some mech operate on me is the answer, you've got something else coming your way! I'm tired of being judged and alienated from everyone!"

"Well, if you let us fix you, there wouldn't be a problem! You know the Decepticons messed with your head! So what's the big deal?"

His red optics flashed. "Just because I realize something's off and something's different from what I thought, doesn't mean that I trust you!"

Miko stopped short at that. Wheeljack watched his words slap across her face, causing her caramel brown eyes to stare in shock. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She shrank back, backing down.

A sense of guilt warred with satisfaction. Wheeljack seethed at himself for being torn between the emotions. That was what he wanted, right? He had proved his point! He didn't trust them yet! They were strangers to him!

But he hadn't wanted to hurt her feelings?

"Wheeljack," Elita finally asked. Wheeljack felt Optimus's servos tighten in silent warning on his shoulders. Thoughtful optics pinned him. "Would you like to get better?"

His jaw set. "I want things set straight."

"So why won't you let Ratchet fix you?" she needled gently.

Energon suffused to his cheeks. "I said I don't trust you," he repeated. "Any of you. I barely know you, and you're just as bad as the Decepticons trying to order me and pressure me into slag."

"So what do YOU want?" Elita pressed, ignoring that low blow.

Wheeljack vented, trying to swallow around the anger stifling his throat. What did he want. What did he want? His cycles slowed as he truly thought about it, but . . . he didn't really know. Did he?

He swore under his breath, tired of being so indecisive. "You guys act like I was one of you, right?" he finally asked. "Well then, I want to be fragging treated like one of you! I got better treatment from the Decepticons! I wasn't ever in the brig! I wasn't ever getting the slag beat out of me! I was treated like a king, praised, and treasured! I was Megatron's go-to mech!" He threw an arm out. "Here? If you really want me better then give me some fragging space and—GET THE FRAG OFF." He shoved off Optimus's hands, and oddly, the Prime let go this time.

Wheeljack backed several steps away from the medical area, relieved to be able to put some distance between him and Ratchet. "I want some fragging space! If I was really an Autobot, you'll treat me how you treated me when I was an Autobot! Got it? If I'm one of you, treat me the frag like I'm one of you!"

A hush fell over the bots as they listened to his demands. Finally, it was Twin Twist who piped up. "He's got a point." He shrugged. "So let's treat him like one of us. Let him have free run of the base, let him hang out with us, let him go on the missions, and let him be guardian to Miko again."

"Wait just one fragging minute," Wheeljack cut in, glaring at Twin Twist. "Since when am I HER guardian?"

Twin Twist gave him a mocking and tired look. "Since ever?"

Wheeljack scowled, crossing his arms stubbornly. "I'm not that flesh bag's day care manager, you can keep her."

"No, see, I'm just filing in for you." Twin Twist grinned, blue optics pale with emotional exhaustion. "It's about time you got back on the job, Blinky."

"Yeah!" Wheeljack whirled to where the human suddenly piped up again, something between a smirk and a smile covering her face. "That's a great idea, Twist! That's how it was before, and then you won't feel so alienated, and-"

"I don't want to be your guardian!"

"Well, get over it! You're stuck with me!"

Wheeljack just stared for a klik longer, and then Optimus's voice suddenly added to the mix conspiring against him. "You bring up a good argument, Wheeljack, and the rest have made their points. You'll care for Miko as you did before, and you are my soldier, as you were before. Enjoy your time in this base, but for the sake of my peace of mind, please exercise restraint around Elita."

Wheeljack snorted, turning away from him. "Like I'd get anywhere near her anymore."

"Then we understand each other."

He scowled. "Whatever."

"JACKIE!"

Wheeljack winced at the sheer volume of Miko's voice. The girl was scampering down the stairs and towards him, and she jerked her arm. "Come on! Let's go out and play!"

When Wheeljack glared and refused to move, the Prime fixed on him a level gaze, arching a brow. He groaned and turned to follow her, snapping, "You're just really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Yes. I am."

"Frag you."

He almost stepped on Miko she stopped so suddenly and faced him. She wagged her finger at him. "Tut-tut-tut, Wheeljack! Watch your words!"

"I can say whatever the frag I want," he growled in irritation, clenching his fists and resisting the urge to squish her beneath his foot.

"Fine," she said cheerily. "Then I can say whatever the fuck I want too. Now, let's go out and fucking play!"

A massively perturbed vent gusted out of Wheeljack's mouth. As she trotted out, Wheeljack couldn't stand how much she irked him. "Quit that!"

"Quit what?"

His dentures gnashed. "Cussing," he finally ground out, almost biting through his glossia.

Miko turned to face him, a smug smile on her face. "Then. Quit. Cussing."

He almost swore again, agitated beyond belief. "Fine! I won't cuss! Now fr—Where are you taking me?"

She grinned, face pinching this time with giddy happiness as she pointed her finger towards the desert. "That way! I know we can't go far, but I've got a great idea!"

Wheeljack scoffed as they moved behind the hangar. "Like what?"

She whirled with a grin. "HOPSCOTCH."

His optics shuttered once. "Hopscotch."

"Yeah!" Before he could say no to that, or even ask what it was, Miko was out in the sand, drawing lines with her foot.

He crossed his arms, standing aloofly above her. "What the fr—What's hopscotch?"

Miko groaned as she dramatically rolled her eyes. "Ugh. You aliens and not knowing what hopscotch is. Well, hopscotch is a game where you jump in a pattern of squares to pick up something. I guess I'll just use my shoe since I don't want to throw my phone down there. You mean you've NEVER played hopscotch? Weirdo."

Wheeljack grunted as she finished drawing the squares and numbers before she wiped her brow, went out several paces and started again. Bigger.

He rolled his optics. "Move it, Babe, you'll never get it done." Impatiently, Wheeljack drew the lines with his ped, making a giant sized hopscotch board comically crooked in his haste, instinctively using Cybertronian lettering for the numbers. "There," he grunted. "Now what?"

Kicking off her shoes and going barefoot, Miko said, "Here, just watch." Throwing her shoe out, it landed in the fourth square that was next to square five. Then, Wheeljack watched as she hopped on one foot through squares one, two, and three, jumped to five, six and seven, but put BOTH feet down for eight and nine which were adjacent to each other, and landed safely on ten. Then, she turned out with a giggle, laughing, "Jeez! I've already ruined my course!"

In truth, the course WAS already scattered when the sand moved beneath her feet, but she kept going anyways. She repeated the process backwards, but picked up her shoe and landed on four as well before completing the course with a grin.

"That's all it is!"

Wheeljack was quite sure his processing chips had slowed down and idled at the show. "That's got to be the dumbest thing I've ever seen," he finally said.

"Oh, you grump!" Miko said with a frown and put her hands on her hips. "Do it! It's fun!"

"I'm not doing it."

"DO IT!"

"I said I'm not doing it!"

"It's not going to kill you, just do it!"

"Not doing it!"

"Do it!"

"Not doing it!"

"DO IT."

"No!"

Both of them frowned at each other, arms crossed as they gave each other dirty looks. Finally, it was Miko that sighed and went, "Fine. The sand wouldn't work anyways." Tapping her finger as she thought, it took her only two seconds to come up with something else. With a huge gasp that boded ill for Wheeljack, she exploded, "Gangnam style!"

Again, Wheeljack could only look at her. "What?"

"GANGNAM STYLE," she exploded again. "This is perfect! Wheeljack, I'm teaching you how to dance."

He narrowed his optics. "I am NOT going to dance."

"Oh, don't be so disagreeable! It's easy! Anyone can do it!" When Wheeljack just frowned at her, she gave him a look and said, "It's either this, or hopscotch."

"FINE."

"Good!" She grinned brightly, saying, "Okay, now put your arms out in front of you like this with your wrists crossed. Make sure your wrists are loose so they flop, all right?"

Huffing and doing as told, Wheeljack asked, "Is that it?"

"Of COURSE not." She winked at him. It was then he knew he had went down a dark alley of which he couldn't return. "Now, jump like this, and alternate your feet!"

Wheeljack watched with a rising sense of dread as Miko spread her legs like she was on a horse and began to alternately jump on her feet, flopping her hands and riding her invisible pony. It took a minute, but he eventually got his vocalizer to crack out one word:

"Never."

"C'mon, you HAVE to do it, Jackie!" she cried. "It's easy! Then take your fist and swing your lasso!"

"Never."

"Please!" she wheedled. "Please please please, you've GOT to, Jackie! Do it! Do it do it do it do it do it!"

Wheeljack wrinkled his face up, trying to ignored her puppy dog eyes and hands clasped right beneath her chin. And the pout of her lip. "Never. Babe, you are never ever gonna get me to—"

"Please please please please! PLEASE, Jackie, please please please! Pretty please? PLEASE?"

"Babe, I'm telling you, I'm NOT gonna—"

"PLEASE! PLEASE! PRETTY PWEASE? WITH A CHERRY AND SUGAR ON TOP? PLEASE? PLEEEEEEEAAAAASE—"

"Fraggit, fine! I'll do it!"

Just what did she do to her face that he had to give in? Or in her voice? Or maybe it was that she was so fragging annoying!

"And be nice with your words! No cussing!"

* * *

><p>Optimus did have a point not to want Wheeljack out there alone with Miko. Not while he still had the Synthen running through his systems. But what possessed him to appoint PROWL as babysitter, the police car would have no idea.<p>

As he followed where Miko and Wheeljack had disappeared to, he heard . . . music.

_"Gangnam style! Op, op, op, op, oppa gangnam style! EYYYYY SEXY LADY!"_

Rounding the corner, Prowl froze, staring.

Miko was laughing so hard she almost couldn't even do the dance anymore, face flushed in the heat of day and tears beginning to stream down her face. On the other hand, Wheeljack was . . . dancing with her. A ridiculous dance. Flailing his legs. Flopping his hands and twirling his fist like he was in a rodeo. Shaking his hips. SOME ridiculous form of human dancing.

The sight absolutely broke Prowl's logic circuits.

"Prowl!" Miko laughed giddily while Wheeljack froze, turning to stare at the police car with a mixture of horrified emotions chasing across his face, mortification being paramount among them as he lost whatever dignity he might have previously held. "Prowl! Come join us!"

Choosing to disregard his orders to watch over them, Prowl pivoted on his heel and walked from the way he came.

* * *

><p>You could call the next several days uneventful.<p>

Optimus and Elita continued talking, and the femme seemed to be much more at ease with him, finding it easier and easier to talk to him as the days went by. The Decepticons were quiet; there were no emergencies. However, for WHEELJACK, one could say he had a VERY eventful week.

From dune bashing to horror movies, Wheeljack also got to try his first human food—s'mores, and ended up having to have Miko brush his articulators clean of the sticky substance as well as see Ratchet to get it flushed out of his systems. He also got to try to make origami, he with giant cardboard and Miko with paper, and while she could whip out cranes and frogs and dragons, Wheeljack ended up with lots of balled up paper, crumpled up in his frustration.

They had rock jams. They had naps. They bitched to each other about other people. Miko wanted to blow up a whole pack of balloons, so Wheeljack actually built a small, efficient air pump to do it for her when she blew her face blue. Then she proceeded to steal one of the kitchen knives and begin to POP every last balloon. It made his audio receptors pulse in agony every time, so he started to step on them to help speed the process, making Miko giggle with happiness that he joined in and Prowl to fritz his logic circuits again when he came to investigate the noise.

Miko also decided to have them role play Decepticons. Or impersonate them. Wheeljack chose Knockout, whining about his finish, bitching about the others and everything he could, as well as being as obnoxious as he possibly could. Miko immediately chose Megatron, creating needless havoc in the base that resulted in Raf's computer lid getting slapped down on his fingers, spit balls on Bumblebee, Arcee, and Ultra Magnus, sabotaging a video game so Jack lost, and walking around bowlegged like a cowboy and proclaiming she was "Lord of the Decepticons," getting obnoxiously angry over everything, and screaming at everyone, "STARSCREAM! YOU FOOL!"

To top off her charade, she even had put a bucket on her head. The only thing that stopped the madness before one of the bots snapped (particularly, Ratchet), she was saved by Jack impersonating Starscream and throwing himself at her feet, bowing and kissing her boots while waggling his eyebrows to an almost suggestive degree. And his voice was clumsily orgasmic as he proclaimed, "Oh master! You are so wonderful and evil, and I am your loyal and faithful servant! Your finish is looking so glorious today, Master! Tie me up and take me away, oh Lord and Master!"

Humiliated, she tried to run, but Jack caught her and kissed her before tickling her until she squealed and screamed, and then kissing her again.

Wheeljack separated them.

Miko taught him patty cake, scrabble, how to read music, twister—which almost ended up with her getting squashed—several board games, and successfully making Wheeljack lock himself down in alt mode for several hours and refusing to talk to her simply because he couldn't stand hanging out with her for one more minute. In response to his annoyance, Miko began to speak whale like Dory from Finding Nemo until Ratchet swore that if Wheeljack didn't occupy her, he was going to get it.

Needless to say, Wheeljack occupied Miko so much that he even let her paint his fingers like he had fingernails.

But over those days, Wheeljack was considerably disagreeable. Aggressive. The Synthen was there all the time, Wheeljack knew it, and so that led to one fateful encounter with Ratchet one day.

It started with a glare across the base. Ratchet pointedly ignored his glare, clearly deeming that he had other things to do than deal with Wheeljack at that point. The glare intensified into a scowl and fidgeting. Miko was absent from Wheeljack's side for once, choosing instead to go out on a date since Wheeljack had been a royal ass to her that day. And again, some things never changed—seeing Miko go off with Jack was enough to make Wheeljack piping mad and jealous, territorial on top of that, and further made her angry and that he needed to back off.

So Wheeljack had. And now, he was glaring at Ratchet. He bet the Doc of Doom was laughing at him on the inside. He just bet he was mocking him for getting Miko mad at him. Or maybe he was about to snap and lose it that Wheeljack was glaring at him. Though that should have tempered his expression, it only made him seethe deeper. Did he dare trust someone else's word? Primus, he wasn't even asking much!

_You're a spineless coward, Wheeljack._

Easily provoking himself, Wheeljack felt his lip curl as he stalked his way across the base to the medical area. Ratchet glanced to him, and Wheeljack pressed his lips mulishly.

"I need a waste can."

The doctor merely arched a brow. Instead of asking what for, like Wheeljack expected, Ratchet simply turned and fetched the item, came back, and offered it to him.

Wheeljack narrowed his optics. "Put it down."

"Come and get it."

He didn't say it in an aggressive way, but it still managed to unnerve Wheeljack. He didn't trust the mech as far the pieces would fly when he blew him up, but he couldn't back down to a challenge as blatant as that. Narrowing his icy blue optics, Wheeljack snatched the can from the medic's hand and backed up within the same movement.

Ratchet harrumphed. "Now, was that so hard?" When Wheeljack fixed a particularly nasty look on him, Ratchet just shrugged and turned back to his computers, taking that as a dismissal.

Wheeljack glared at the mech a bit longer before he looked down at the waste bin in his hands. He told himself he wasn't going to do it, but hurt, honey brown eyes kept rising back to the surface of his processor.

_Damn that girl and everything she stands for._

Sitting the can down on the table, Wheeljack braced himself with a hand on the edge of the table. Then, leaning over, he reached a finger into his mouth, prodding the sensitive nodes in the back of his throat that initiated purging. With an unwilling gag, Wheeljack retched, shoulders bunching as the slimy green Synthen gushed from between his lips.

He immediately felt the medic's optics fix on him. Prickling at the attention, Wheeljack tried to ignore him, tried to ignore the physical drain on his systems, and tried to purge as much of the contents as he could. It didn't take long, considering the Synthen had been corroding his energon transfusion capacitor, and he was left feeling dizzy and weak from energon loss.

His flickering optics looked up to Ratchet. The medic said nothing, but handed him a full energon cube. Servo shaking, Wheeljack took it, rasping, "Liquid enamel?"

Ratchet's optics flickered in surprise, but he again wordlessly fetched the medication, presuming exactly what the problem was. Wheeljack watched with distrust as the CMO added the substance to the mixture, making sure he did it correctly. Apparently, that got on his nerves.

"Contrary to what you may think of me," Ratchet muttered irritably, "I actually tend to take my job seriously . . ." He grunted, letting Wheeljack drink the medicated energon as he disposed of the waste. "I'll schedule you for an appointment to replace your transfusion capacitor."

Wheeljack scowled. "I'm not going under your knife, Doc."

Ratchet just waved a hand in response. As Wheeljack sipped gingerly on the energon, slowly drinking it so he wouldn't purge again, the CMO grabbed a datapad, flicking through its contents. He extended it towards Wheeljack.

"Here. Something to occupy your time."

Eyeing it warily, Wheeljack took the datapad from the medic. He frowned at the blueprints. "The frag's this?"

"A project of yours," the medic replied as he turned back to his computer. He kept to himself why he had the blueprints in the first place. Of course, Wheeljack had kept a backup of his documentation on the main computer of the silo. And when everyone had been evacuating the base? Emergency downloads. Wheeljack's medical history was brief, and both unusual and vital; he had taken it with him. Alongside that was any encounter anyone had with Dark Energon, the readout of Raf before and after he had been infected with Dark Energon, including his regular checkups, a detailed synopsis of Bumblebee's processor after Megatron had possessed him, a meticulous outline Bulkhead's cranial unit from the Synthen formula consuming it, the effects of the Synthen on Ratchet's processor, and the Synthetic Energon formula.

Why had he downloaded his holoform project as well? Ratchet couldn't explain what had possessed him to waste the precious time, especially since Wheeljack had been presumed dead at the time, shot down. But now? He was glad he had it.

"Hopefully, it will keep you out of trouble."

Wheeljack didn't hear that last jibe, flicking curiously through the contents of the datapad. A holoform—a tangible hologram. An interesting concept. He realized he most likely would have done it for Miko, and the progression of what he had come up with astounded him. And then, it suddenly occurred to him—the first prototype was what Bumblebee used with Raf. He had seen it at one point, but hadn't really paid much attention, aloofly keeping the young bot beneath him.

Wheeljack grunted. The human kid had helped him out on this? He might have to recruit the kiddo again. "This is really mine?" It was pretty impressive, the ideas and notes he had jotted down . . .

"Yes," Ratchet replied. He then did something that he had never done with anyone before in his life—giving someone else free reign in his medical lab. "Feel free to use any equipment and supplies you need."

Preoccupied, Wheeljack missed the significant moment of budding trust. Instead, he mused to himself on how to finish the holoform project—HIS holoform project—the way he had previously envisioned, by actually feeling from the holoform.

He became so engrossed in the long-missed science that he didn't even register when Jack and Miko returned. Though he didn't notice her, it didn't bother Miko too much. The anger had passed, Jack had talked her down and treated her to a wonderful night, and in all honesty? She was happy Wheeljack was getting around to tinkering again. It felt closer and closer to the way it had previously been with every new day.

But, that night wasn't only a date night for Miko and Jack.

"You mean they named a constellation after you?" Elita laughed, flat on her back with Optimus just outside the base, laying on a soft, but gritty, field of sand. "Your reputation precedes you, Optimus Prime!"

Optimus chuckled warmly, gazing up at the stars with her that night. The sky was clear, giving them a dazzling site to behold. "I'm afraid the Orion constellation isn't named after me," he told her. He pointed a finger, showing it to her. "The Orion constellation is represented by the figure of a hunter with a belt and sword. He comes from Greek mythology, a giant hunter slain by Artemis."

Elita snickered. "That's right. Woman slays man again." Optimus's mouth tipped up, indeed amused, but happier that they had finally relaxed into a comfortable atmosphere together again. He tilted his head to her, watching as her face pinched a little as she searched the stars above. "There." She pointed her finger, tracing the sky's outline. "I see him. Strange things these humans come up with. Shapes in the sky." She shook her head. "I would have never seen them."

He smiled, lounging back with his arms crossed behind his head. "They are most certainly the most culturally diverse and imaginative creatures I have ever encountered."

A tiny little scoff caught in the back of Elita's throat. She turned towards him, propping herself up on one elbow. "You know what I don't get?" she said. Optimus shifted, turning to face her as well. "I don't understand why they wish on the stars. At this point, they're just dead embers, so they've wished several million years too late. It's like saying your dreams are dead, even before they started!"

Optimus shook his head at her, blue optics illuminating the darkness. "For shame, Elita. You're taking the romance out of star gazing."

Her optics blinked open wide. "Romantic? I thought it was educational?"

He really chuckled then, amused by her and the way she thought. "Perhaps we will never understand some human traditions," Optimus said, glancing up at the sky once more before looking back at Elita. "Elita . . . Could I perhaps confess something personal to you?"

Her spark jumped. It had been quite some time since he had done anything like this. "I suppose," she said a little warily. "It's about us, right?"

"If you don't mind."

"It's all right," she heard herself saying even though her mind was telling her to back off now while she could. Her spark fluttered with anticipation though. "What is it?"

Optimus vented slightly, spark reacting almost violently to her closeness with him that night. "I would like to tell you the first time I knew I couldn't live without you."

Her cheeks brightened a little. "Yes?"

His voice dropped to a gentle level as he reminisced, optics glued to hers. "After we first met, we began to correspond often. It really wasn't long before I began to court you. Quite simply, Jazz had been right. There was a spark, a magnetism that couldn't be denied. Our intellect challenged each other, your daring balanced with my caution, and I had never enjoyed or craved someone's company so much in my entire life." He paused. He gave a wry chuckle. "It also didn't hurt that you were absolutely stunning, both then and now."

Elita blushed again. Optimus shook his head, and he continued softly, "The time I realized I couldn't live without you . . . It really wasn't anything dramatic. Neither of us were on the brink of death, we weren't separated, we hadn't even had a fight. You were late to one of our dates. You didn't stand me up, you simply found a promising avenue in work and took it. You called and apologized that you wouldn't be able to make it, and it was all right with me. I understood.

"But I also realized, as I sat alone in Maccadam's, I realized that that empty seat across from me?" His optics lifted, pinning her spark to the floor. "I only wanted it to be filled by you. I realized then and there that I wanted to share every aspect of my life with you by my side, as my partner . . . as my lover."

Throat working around the emotion he was lifting from her, Elita sat up abruptly, looking down at the sands as she tried to still her fluttering spark. How was she supposed to respond to that?

Optimus let his gaze caress over her, soaking in the way the moonlight played over her armor, making her gleam with beauty. "I continued to court you more fervently than before," he continued quietly, desperate to make her understand. "Even with signs of the war brewing, it didn't faze us. And when you agreed to become my spark mate . . . Primus, Elita, my spark soared so high I could have perished right then."

Wordless, Elita felt her hands steal up to her hot cheeks, unable to find a suitable response to the passionate way he poured his spark out to her.

"Our vows . . . We were still young Orion and Ariel when we took them. We promised we would love each other longer than forever, to the end of time; until time rewound itself and we could love each other for another lifetime. Beyond death. We promised, if we would ever meet in the Well of All Sparks or in the Pit, we would go together." His vocalizer choked on emotion. Clearing it, his vocalizer continued to husk against his will. "We were madly in love. Perhaps to a melodramatic degree with vows like that, but I meant them all with my spark, then and now, still so melodramatic."

Finally, she was able to open her mouth, voice thick. "Optimus Prime, please stop. I—I think I've heard enough."

"I'm sorry," he apologized immediately. He sat up next to her, brows cinched with concern. "I overstepped my boundaries again."

"No," she waved him off, trying to staunch his worry. He was too considerate. Too much of a gentleman. She didn't know how to deal with him. "It's fine, I just . . . I've got a lot to think about. I think—I'd like to get some rest now."

Optimus stood immediately, offering her his hand. "If that is what you wish. Another time then. Allow me to escort you back?"

Her lips twitched at the show he put on, half as much a show as it was genuine. "Thank you." She took his hand and let him help her to her feet, and he seemed loath to let her go. Much more incredulous was that Elita let him keep her servo in his, and didn't pull away as he escorted her back to the berth chambers. He halted outside the door and turned fervent optics on her.

"Goodnight, Elita."

He was a tad bit bolder this time. Her fingers twitched in surprise when his hand took hers and lifted the back of her hand to his lips, pressing an initially chaste kiss above her knuckles. Then, almost immediately, she heard his breathing shift. It was as if even putting his lips against her was too much temptation for him to resist. Her throat bobbed as she watched his brows knit in pained concentration, and his mouth parted just slightly, his uneven breath rippling across her servo.

For the briefest of moments, those lips dragged with tantalizing static against her before he abruptly stood with a muffled gasp, releasing her hand as if it was made of fire. "I'm sorry," he husked immediately. He caught a second later how passion-leaden his voice was, and he cleared his vocalizer conspicuously, rocking back on his heels. "That was much too forward. It won't happen again."

Inclining his body slightly, Elita watched, vocals fused as he made his leave of her, leaving her at the door to the berth rooms as if he did not sleep there. She had to reset her vocalizer three times before she found her voice.

"Optimus, wait!"

He stopped abruptly, turning back to look at her, and she came up to him, locking her knees tight to keep them from wobbling. She tried to regulate her breathing without any success. Her throat worked again as she wondered if this was quite the right idea, but he had been nothing but the most upstanding gentleman to her since he had started. And to his credit, her mind could only see all the signs that she really had been his spark mate.

She pressed her lips together. She hiked up her chin. She took a deep breath.

"Kiss me."

He froze, still as a statue of marble. For a minute, she thought she was going to have to repeat her request when he suddenly shocked out of his amazement.

Optimus forced his jaw to open and ask the words, "Are you certain?"

Elita nodded. "Yes. I want you to kiss me."

His throat swallowed visibly. His fingers twitched before he took an extremely steadying breath, asking, "Why?"

Dropping her helm to think about it, she crossed her arms and gave the briefest of shrugs. "Well, a kiss is powerful, right?" She looked up at him and into his optics so fervent she was certain he could undress her with a look alone. "They say there's no greater weapon than a kiss. It's like breathing in another's soul. So I figure that if you're wanting me to remember something . . . a kiss might trigger it."

His vocalizer cracked. "Yet they also say kissing is like drinking salt water; you drink, and your thirst increases." He paused. His voice rasped. "And I fear I am dying of thirst."

A thrill chased up her back at his potentially dangerous warning. Worse, it only made her want to try that kiss even more. "Sorry to say," she managed to say, though her voice quavered, "you've been kissing me all night."

"I have?" His optics flickered in the darkness of night.

Elita nodded. "Yes. You . . . bear your soul to me. You have . . . passionate optics. The kind that speak the soul through the optics. And, the soul that can speak through the eyes . . ." Her breathing lilted, spark clenching because of his intense stare. "Can also kiss with a gaze," she managed to rasp.

There was another brief moment of hesitation before Optimus took a step towards her, closing the gap between them. He bent down, and sparks of heat danced across Elita's cheek when Optimus's hand cupped her face gently, servo literally shaking with embroiled passions. He sucked in another breath, and Elita closed her optics, tilting her lips up to him.

The response was delayed, but finally, she felt careful lips brush hers. For one slow second, she tasted heaven, and then, he drew away just slight enough, in takes thin.

"Elita," he rasped hoarsely. His fingers tightened on her jaw, and his throat worked. His breath feathered against her face. "May I please have another kiss?"

The quaver in his voice was palpable. With a shaky little nod, Elita whispered back breathlessly, "Yes," so inclined to feel the déjà vu swamp over her again that she was sure she had already surrendered her entire body to him by surrendering that one kiss.

This time, he didn't tease her. His kiss was firm, but soft, as gentle as his servos had always been towards her—save for this once, where his hand gripped a mite too tight in the effort of holding back the tension in his body. And then, as brief as it was the last time, he pulled away, in takes halting a bit harder.

"Elita—" She felt him physically tremble he was so close to her. The fingers of his empty hand twitched with the urge to touch her; his palm closed into a fist to resist the urge to do more than just touch her. His lovely deep baritone cracked again. "Could I please kiss you again?"

"Yes," she responded quicker than last time. His lips captured hers again, this time almost without pause. The heady kiss dizzied her processor, and she whimpered almost inaudibly at the touch of fire she wanted to burn over her whole body. The more sane part of her processor argued that he was a stranger and no decent femme would let a stranger kiss them as passionately as this, but the absolutely mad edge of her spark pretended she knew him and entreated him to take her where she stood.

Optimus broke the kiss again, this time, chassis heaving with ragged vents. "Elita . . ." He drew in a sharp cycle, in taking rapidly in the effort to grasp his slipping control. Smoldering crystal optics stared into hers so intently she felt her knees growing weak. His fingers tightened again, trying to suppress the rampant need overflowing from within him. He shook his head, but didn't release her. "I—I shouldn't . . . I shouldn't—I can't . . . not—"

Before he could talk himself out of it, Elita stood up on her toes, seizing his lips with her own and taking the great Prime off guard. He gasped in surprise, that supple mouth opening in shock, and Elita took full advantage of the situation, sliding her glossia out and between his lips, tracing along the inside. There was one hot, dizzying moment where Optimus felt like his entire body was melting before the fine line of his control was tripped.

A muffled groan creaked from his mouth. Kissing her back hungrily, Optimus wrapped both arms around her, pressing her as close to him as he could possibly get her. He bent her backwards over his arm, and her fingers dug into his chassis, holding onto him desperately, and she whimpered, allowing him to part her lips and receive entrance.

She didn't know what wonderful madness possessed her, but if this insanity was so sweet, she didn't even want to let it go. Hands snaking up to lock around his neck, Elita pulled him closer, bewitched by him, intoxicated by him. Her world limited itself to swirling around his anchor and the taste of his lips captured her. Their arms tightened, each trying to pull the other closer even though their bodies were pressed flush against each other. His mouth pressed with ardent heat against hers, wrenching a moan from the depths of her spark.

She had never been kissed like this before. Never, never . . .

Optimus physically strained against her before he broke the hungry, fierce kiss with a cry. He released her so suddenly she staggered, gasping out, voice almost weeping the sound of desperation, "Oh, Elita . . . Primus, Primus, Elita . . ."

The sheer ANGUISH coloring his voice tore at her spark. She took a step towards him, reaching out. "Optimus—"

"No, don't—!" His voice cracked again, and he winced away from the sight of her, lips swollen and begging to be kissed. "Please, don't," he managed, absolutely shaking with his passions. "Not unless—not unless you want—not unless . . ."

His gaze drifted back to hers, unable to finish his thought of what would happen if she pressed him any further. But she could see the raw hope fraught with desperation in his optics. It was that alone that almost made her break, almost made her throw her every whim to the wind and let him take her in every which way he wanted . . . but she couldn't. She wasn't sure yet, so soon, just barely over a week. Even if what they told her was true, even with the facts and evidence stacking up so quickly, even with her emotions betraying her so willingly . . . It was too fast. She had to have more time. She had to be CERTAIN. She had to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this mech was everything she could ever want. Her spark was her priority right now, sacred and precious, because once given, she couldn't take it back.

Though she didn't say anything, he saw the answer in her optics. The devastated look was quickly hidden from her, and she watched as he dragged in deep breaths, flushing the heat from his systems and trying to calm himself. After a minute, he finally whispered with a weak tease, "I think we ought to keep the kissing to a minimum from now on."

He might have simply been pulling her leg to lighten the moment, but Elita could hear in his voice that he really meant that. She nodded, swallowing hard. "Y-Yes," she agreed softly, ruing her stutter. "Perhaps it would be for the best." She paused, and she bit her bottom lip before saying, "Thank you for a wonderful night, Optimus. Until next time."

Her choice of words lifted his guilty helm immediately—next time. He managed to give her a tried, but true smile. "Another time, Elita. Rest well."

"And you as well, Optimus."

They parted ways, and Elita crept into the berth rooms, careful not to wake the others slumbering. But as she curled up that night, she could by no means keep her mind off that dizzying kiss and the implications it implied.

In the main hangar, Optimus sat with his face buried in his palms, shaking at how close they had come, terrified he had lost too much control, yet reveling in the wake of passions left sizzling his circuits.

Neither mech nor femme could keep the other off their minds, revisiting the steamy kiss in their dreams.


	62. Hurt

**Author's Note:**

**Say hello to my newest favers and followers! ^-^ RelentlessCrusader, kittycatcalamity, DreamersChance, couriosity, PepperCornPie, and leonku91!**

**And as always, much love and ice cream and cake to my awesome reviewers! :D Neon, Miko873, couriosity, lolistarkiller, recognizer of unrecognizable, MajorWanderer, Zypherion-DeathNova, Spiritstrike, Grace, Azul the blue, A Fire Bending Tiger, Autobot Mechanical-operations, Sounddrive, Ardianna Keeper, The Warrior of Hope, Lewascan2, Filly92, Autobot Chromia, kittycatcalamity, ZabuzasGirl, Kuurankukka, Little Kunai, and strikehead1454!**

**Oh, and just as a forewarning, grab your hankies and I am prepared to receive all of your hearts thrown at my feet! :D**

* * *

><p>Wheeljack was quite sure if Ultra Magnus got on him for one more Primus-slagged thing, he was going to fry his circuits.<p>

He had thought Prowl was bad? No. No, no, no, that was NOTHING compared to Ultra Magnus. Ultra Magnus was the bane of their existence; it was enough for Wheeljack to WANT to mutilate him back into stasis lock. He found his trigger finger's self-control tested as he found he hated the mech almost as much as he hated Prowl.

See, at least Prowl had the good senses to research where each energon scouting area WAS so guys like Wheeljack, in his flashy sports car, didn't end up on a rugged mountain road and killing his suspension, whereas Twin Twist could have taken the road easily. Or, put Twin Twist on a tiny trail that would have suited Arcee's tiny alt mode. Or gotten Bumblebee stuck in rush hour traffic. Or set Smokescreen on a LONG and EMPTY road that just BEGGED for him to speed and gotten the cops on him.

Prowl was at least conscientious about these things. But Ultra Magnus, on the other hand, ran the fragging place like the he ran the Elite Guard and how he tried to run the Wreckers. He had even forced Wheeljack to cease his work on his little holoform project and have it approved before he could continue his work. Which took the greater part of the week and absolutely infuriated Wheeljack to no end at how utterly unnecessary it was. On top of that, Wheeljack skipping a night shift to go racing with Miko again ended up getting them tattletaled upon by Prowl, and Ultra Magnus confining Wheeljack to base.

Since he was "grounded" as Miko called it, Wheeljack moved on to things to occupy his hands. Unfortunately, the only one who had something he could work on was Ultra Magnus's ship. After that engine had been grazed by the Predacon's fire way back when, it hadn't really flown the same. So he took the chance to slip out of the main hangar to the ship to run some repairs, recalibrate the engines, and perhaps increase a little vector thrust?

Thus, when Miko was GOING to hang out with her guardian again, she saw him under the hull of that ship, smothered in green coolant from almost head to foot. How did he get all of that on him? She huffed, bored out of her mind. Turning and walking the way she had come, Miko headed back towards the hangar, contemplating what to do. Jack was at work. Raf was studying for finals like a good kid. Miko held no such illusions about studying or doing homework, but most of the bots were out on their energon scouting, and they wouldn't be back for a little while yet . . . Well, they'd be back directly, but it just wasn't the same hanging out with someone else's bot instead of your own.

Miko huffed. There was NOTHING TO DO. Searching around for Twin Twist—since she hadn't seen him in a good while—Miko walked into the main hangar, searching this way and that. Unfortunately, she saw only Ratchet and Ultra Magnus . . . Did that mean Optimus and Elita were out on ANOTHER date? This was getting ridiculous.

"What are you looking for?"

Miko squeaked and jumped out of her very skin when Ultra Magnus's big voice directed itself on her. Instinctively, she found herself snapping to attention. "U-Uh . . . J-Just Twin Twist, Sir."

She had to crane her neck back to try to see his face. He was leaned over a bit in order to see her. He still hadn't figured out the proper way to talk to the humans yet, towering over them instead of taking a step back. How was this guy related to Optimus? A perturbed rumble caught in Ultra Magnus's great chassis, the vibrations nearly rattling the air. "He has already come in and logged his fuel report and is presumably scouting the next grid."

Miko felt herself deflate. "Okay. Thanks."

Turning and heading off, Miko tugged on her hair. Now what? Casino and Boobie weren't available yet to teach her some more good fighting moves, and she wasn't all that comfortable with the guys yet. They tended to pick on her a little bit when she didn't have Casino or Bobbie to back her up. She glanced back over to Wheeljack, deep in his work. She knew he sucked at holding conversation while he worked. Her gaze swept the base again, and her eyes alighted upon the far hangar.

The bots' wash racks! Now THAT could be a good swimming pool. Deciding on the spot to leave behind the heat of the day for a nice, cool swim, Miko jogged her way over, intent on stripping to her underwear and swimming to her heart's content. Luckily, the door wasn't completely shut, and she slipped inside to find that the water was already running. She froze in the doorway, heart hitting her stomach.

There, kneeling beneath the spray of the showers, was Twin Twist. He was shaking, chassis doors sprang open and the light of his spark flickering weakly. His hand was inside the chamber, spark clenched in tight fingers. His optics were wide open, staring in a gruesome combination of despair and pain as he struggled against the suicide Miko caught him in the attempt of doing, a dark storm bubbling up from a sea of regret. The loss of Topspin was taking its toll, wearing him down, weakening him, stripping him of his will to live.

Miko forced her jaw to open, shivering in terror. "Twist?" she managed to rasp.

He jerked. His servo leapt away from his spark, guilty at being caught, and wild optics settled on her. She watched his lips tremble as he was pelted with the freezing cold waters of the shower, his soul bared naked to her, and he made no attempt to cover himself. Instead, his mouth opened, and his articulators immediately cracked in desperation.

"M-Miko . . ."

He made a move to go towards her, but he stumbled to his knees, seizing in tight, panicked vents. Miko rushed into the waterfall of the shower, shivering at the cold, but a little cold wasn't going to make her leave Twin Twist. Not when he was like this. A garbled cry caught in his vocalizer, and he pressed both hands to his face, broken weeping beginning to fill the room.

Miko hurried to him, scrambling up on his knee when he didn't bow down to her level. "Twist! Twist, shh, it's going to be all right. It—"

"No it's not!" he finally cried out at her. "I can't do it, Miko! I can't do it! I can't fight it anymore!"

"Yes you CAN," she stressed as strong and gently as she could. Moving up his leg to his waist, Miko hugged him as best she could, lending her strength to him. "You've fought it this long, you can keep doing it. You're tough, Twist, I know you can—"

"No! I CAN'T, Miko, I CAN'T! I wasn't the strong one, Topspin was! Look at—LOOK AT ME!"

Before Miko could react, a servo had grabbed her and yanked her up to chest height, giving her an unrestricted view of his spark. The organ in question . . . Miko felt her stomach hit her feet, dropping sickeningly at the sight. She knew what Wheeljack's spark looked like when he was suffering spark fractures, but this? His spark snapped and crackled violently, almost volatile with emotion, and down the center was a deep fissure, an almost gaping crevice, and half of his spark was shriveling, withering without his brother's presence.

"You can't ask me to keep on living like this! You can't, Miko, you can't—!"

His numbing fingers almost dropped her. His chassis doors clanged shut, covering up the shame of his deteriorating spark, and he sat her back down on the ground. His servos stole up his body, one hand clenching at his chassis and the other covering his face, clawing at himself.

A morbid feeling encircled her heart as Twin Twist wept over her, festering in his spark break every minute of his life. She swallowed around a tight lump in her throat. He was in agony every second . . . wasn't he? That cold, bleak air suffocated her more, and she shivered, hair and clothing plastered to her chilled skin. Biting her lip, Miko reached out to him, putting her hand on the freezing metal of his knee. He twitched.

"Twin Twist . . . I know you promised me you wouldn't go until Wheeljack was back to normal . . . but . . ." Miko swallowed, hot tears bubbling up in her eyes. She looked down, not wanting to face the morose truth that was glaring her in the face. She felt her heart slowly break as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight back her crying.

It wasn't right to ask him to live like this, was it? She couldn't ask him to endure such cruel suffering, could she? For once in her life, Miko felt herself wedged between a rock and a hard place, found her love being put to the test in the most terrible way possible:

Love him enough to never give up on him . . . or love him enough to know when it was time to let him go?

"But . . . If you can't . . . keep going . . ." She dragged in a breath, trying to bolster her whispering words. "It's all right. I—I understand. If you need to be with Topspin again . . . I won't stop you."

For a minute, she didn't get an answer. Just staggered, labored vents wrought with mournful passions. Then, Twin Twist lifted his helm to look at her through a film of tears. The heels of his hands pressed against his optics, and she heard a strangled vent cycle through his body.

It took him a minute. But he finally cracked out, "I . . ." He shuddered. He rocked. "I . . . I promised you . . ." He shook his head, fingers digging into his helm. "I promised you. I . . . I won't break that promise."

Miko lifted her head, trying to look at him through the spray of the showers. "Twist?"

"I—Just g-give me a second . . ."

A sob caught in the back of her throat. Trying not to cry, Miko hugged his knee as tight as she could, putting kisses on him and trying her best to comfort him. She shivered with cold, but she didn't mind. He was going to make it again. He was going to be all right. If just for a while longer . . .

* * *

><p>Busily working away on Ultra Magnus's engines, Wheeljack didn't hear the car pull up. Nor did he see the human walk up to him. But he DID hear the rap of knuckles sharp against the ship's hull. Grunting in frustration, Wheeljack ducked his head back out of the engine and glared down on the offending human.<p>

She was white, sporting a small red sunburn, and her brown hair was pulled tightly back in a ponytail. He guessed her to be about halfway through her life if the budding crow's feet on her eyes were any indication, and she was a little chunky around the waist. Green eyes waited expectantly, and Wheeljack finally grunted.

"What?"

She arched a brow his way. "So it IS true. Well, allow me to introduce myself again. I'm Mrs. Davis, Miko's host parent."

Wheeljack blinked for a moment longer before his processor put the two together. "Oh. Right. Japan." When she didn't leave, Wheeljack shifted awkwardly. "Well, hi. That all you want?"

Mrs. Davis shook her head. "I was just wanting to check up on you and see how you were doing. According to Miko, you're doing a lot better than before."

He grunted, sticking his head back inside the engine to tinker. "If you want to look at it like that."

Mrs. Davis tipped her head, watching him closely and wishing she could see his face. "You don't think so?"

"I don't know," was the terse response.

She left that avenue, sensing he would only get angry and tell her to get lost if she pressed that issue. "Well, have you seen Miko? She's got a dentist appointment today we can't be late for."

A massive shoulder shrugged in response.

Mrs. Davis paused at his indifferent responses. She supposed that he considered humans rather beneath him right now, brainwashed as he was about everything he used to know. And she also bet he was preoccupied with fixing whatever he was fixing. She frowned as he resolutely ignored her. To get him into the conversation, she decided to go for shock value.

"Based on everything Miko's told me, I think you're just scared of what you'll remember when Ratchet fixes you, and THAT'S why you won't let him."

The result was instantaneous and hilarious. Wheeljack jerked with a sharp, "WHAT?" and at the same time, knocked his helm hard against the ship's engine and swore sharply. He yanked his head out and whirled, glaring down on her like she was the most insufferable speck in existence.

"I dare ya to say that again, you nasty little meat sack."

Mrs. Davis nodded her head. "Of course. I said, you're afraid to have Ratchet fix you because—"

"I know what the frag you said!" Wheeljack snapped, wielding a pair of bolt cutters the way Ratchet would a wrench. "I don't need another Primus-slagged speech, so you can either stuff it or get out of here!"

Mrs. Davis sighed with a small smile. "Really, Wheeljack? Your temper is infallible as ever. Take a deep breath and calm down."

Her apparent calmness infuriated him more. She wasn't afraid of him. In fact, her disregard of his threats bordered on insulting. "Get out," he growled, "or I'll see how well human powers this engine."

"And risk having to pick all my pieces from the engine?" Mrs. Davis said calmly, though inside she was reeling at the nasty thought. "We humans DO make a nice mess when we're squished, I bet."

Wheeljack let another dangerous growl rattle his chassis. "How the frag did you even get on this base?" Wasn't it a top secret base?

"Agent Fowler finally got my papers through," Mrs. Davis said candidly. "It took a while, but I am officially allowed on base. Is this a problem?"

He scowled and turned back to the engine, finishing his work as fast as he could just so he could get away from her. "I thought Miko had a dentist appointment?"

Mrs. Davis checked her watch. "We're doing okay on time. Again, how are you? Are you managing well? Finally settling into the routine?"

"I'm FINE," he snapped for the umpteenth time. Closing the ingresses on the engine, he bolted everything back into place as quick as possible.

"Well, it was just a question," Mrs. Davis said with a knowing smile. "What's REALLY bothering you, Wheeljack?"

"You are!" he snapped, unwilling to give her the answer she was looking for. He snapped to a standing position, pointing a finger. "There's Miko. Go bother her."

Mrs. Davis glanced over her shoulder to see Twin Twist walking towards the main hangar. She looked back to Wheeljack who was angrily shoving the tools he had used back into the toolbox in no apparent order. "Well, if you don't want to talk about yourself, I'll keep you updated on what's happening on our end of the town," she said conversationally. "Miko has finals next week, so be sure that if she's not at home studying, she's out here studying. You always did have a knack to get her to study."

Wheeljack tried his hardest to ignore the insufferable human, but she somehow kept up with his long strides as he circled the ship and inside. "Mr. Davis should be coming home this Friday. I've been talking with him a lot, and I'm slowly wearing him down. I told him about your holoform, and now I think he's wanting to meet you properly."

Wheeljack grunted, stowing away Ultra Magnus's tools and not caring that he was dripping coolant all over the interior of the ship. Despite his apparent lack of interest, Mrs. Davis WOULD NOT stop talking.

"And once the school year is over, James will be coming back home, and I'm honestly VERY excited to have my baby come home again! But I DO want to get Miko something before she heads back home to Japan, and I was thinking a few sets of guitar strings might be good. Possibly that, or a real camera for her to have so she'll have better quality pictures. What do you think of that?"

Wheeljack froze mid-step. Processor finally catching up with what Mrs. Davis was saying, Wheeljack blinked, a territorial instinct rising up in him.

She was going back home.

That was right.

Once the school year was over, Miko would be going back to Japan, and—what was that kid's name?—he would be going back to HIS parents. For some inexplicable reason, Wheeljack didn't like this idea. She belonged HERE! Sure, if she went back, they could use the ground bridge to bridge her back and forth, but the ground bridge required energon to power it, and energon was already in such short supply . . .

He felt knuckles rap on his heel. "Though, as much as I love James, I do care for Miko a great deal. And considering the circumstances she's been through and how much James loves Tokyo, I might be able to have Miko again as an exchange student. I can't promise studying abroad unless James wants it though."

Wheeljack snapped his glitching systems out of shock, and he scowled, stalking ahead again. He didn't want to have to deal with that. Not now. Not right yet.

Marching into the main hangar with Mrs. Davis right on his heels, Wheeljack came face-to-face with a frowning Ultra Magnus. "Soldier, I don't recall giving you permission to leave the base."

Wheeljack internally groaned. Not THIS fragger again . . . "That's because you didn't, SIR," he said patronizingly.

"Why are your hands smeared with coolant?"

Resisting the urge for a snarky remark, Wheeljack instead just told the truth. "I recalibrated your ship's engines. You can expect a 10% increase in vector thrust."

The dumbstruck look on Ultra Magnus's face was good enough for Wheeljack. And, to his greater credit, Mrs. Davis finally gave him a wave from his peds, saying, "Well, it's been nice talking to you, Wheeljack. I hope you relax a little bit more." Then, she turned, calling to Miko, "Miko! It's time to go!"

Mrs. Davis waited patiently for Miko to finish talking to Twin Twist, clearly knowing of the issues happening with him, and while she gave Miko a look, she didn't question why the young human was soaked from head to foot. Instead, as the girls left, a massive mech landed in the doorway, wings snapping shut.

For once in his life, Wheeljack was GLAD to see Optimus Prime. If anything just to get away from Ultra Magnus!

* * *

><p>Action! Thank PRIMUS those Decepticons slipped up and gave him someone to stab! He was afraid if it hadn't happened soon, he would have gotten either Magnus or Prowl. They were both driving him insane, and even when he WASN'T hyped up on Synthen, he was still programmed to kill Autobots.<p>

And, he got to use a fancy new weapon. A whip? Yeah, Magnus knew how to pack the weaponry, that's for sure!

"Stealth team, transport our cargo back to base. Wreckers, reconnoiter the mine."

"I've always wanted to roll with the Wreckers!"

No. Please no.

"Uh . . . Sir!"

Not the hyper bot. Not the kid. Not the rookie . . .

Despite how hard he prayed, Smokescreen got to come with them. It didn't damper his mood TOO much, though he was a little irritated he was bringing up the rear. He guess it was a show of their trust—to let him walk behind them where he had easy targets of them all. However, while Elita had stayed back with the others, Prowl was with the Wreckers as well. Wheeljack silently huffed. Most likely to keep an optic on him.

The Wreckers and the Elite Guard . . .

THIS was a ticking time bomb.

"No energon signals," Twin Twist reported in that eerie, hollow voice of his. Wheeljack got prickles just listening to him speak.

"And no additional security," he pointed out. "Something doesn't smell right."

"Sorry," Twin Twist said off-handedly with an attempt at a joke. "I backfired and you're stuck downwind."

Smokescreen snickered. Ultra Magnus ignored them, but Prowl gave them a look that could have melted steel. They all succumbed to silence again as they moved on through the perfectly stripped mine, no hint of any Decepticon tails lingering in the place. Wheeljack almost suspected the place was rigged to blow, but there was no credence for that. The mine was nearly undisturbed; not one molecule of dirt seemed out of place.

They came to a fork in the road. "Pair off," Ultra Magnus ordered them. Prowl immediately stuck with his commanding officer, clearly unwilling to put up with the rookie or the Wreckers. Smokescreen, buddies with Twin Twist, stuck with him. Wheeljack glared at everyone's back.

_Ha ha. Pair up. Funny, now I'm the third wheel._

He hesitated for one moment. He did NOT want to go with Tight Aft and Tighter Aft. He looked towards Smokescreen and Twin Twist. The Wrecker looked back at him, and though his entire face strained with the effort, he smiled thinly, waving his blaster.

"You can come with us, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack's gaze shuttered. NOPE. Not with THAT freaky gaze. Slinking off to tail Ultra Magnus and Prowl, Wheeljack again had to stifle muttering under his breath. Unless they happened upon some more Decepticons, and soon, things were going to get ugly.

Until—

Wheeljack felt excitement tingle from the tips of his peds to the tips of his audio receptors at the sight that greeted them deep inside the cave, snuggled in the very back.

_Mad science. A mech after my own spark._

Pods upon pods of growing Predacons lined the walkway up to the complex computer equipment in the back. Now THIS was an impressive little enclave! Wheeljack's processor percolated rapidly, stimulated and wanting to check this place out from the smallest scrap to the tiniest detail in the data banks on how Shockwave had managed to perform such a feat of bringing new life to fruition.

His optics caught the sight of the stacks upon stacks of Synthen in the corner. His peds nearly fused to the ground. Synthen . . . His engine revved quietly in his chassis. Primus knew he hadn't had a good taste of that in a while—

No! Wheeljack shook his processor. He knew what it did to him. It corroded his transfusion capacitor. And on top of that, it made him an ass.

But Primus, did he KNOW what it did to him. To have that much power, and that intoxicating high again—

Wheeljack jerked back to the land of the living when he heard the bullets. Lunging and dodging to safety behind one of the pods, Wheeljack gritted his dentures, halfway between helping in the firefight between them and Shockwave or slinking off to the side to grab that Synthen. After all, a little more power couldn't hurt, could it?

NO. Wheeljack shook his helm again, chastising himself like a child to keep himself from making a stupid mistake. He reminded himself that he apparently had the bane of his existence and the one who screwed up his processor right within reach, and there was nothing standing in between him and blowing his brains out.

How was THAT for empowerment?

Whirling and open firing, Wheeljack sought to give Shockwave a piece of the medicine he had so dished out before, but the scientist ducked out of sight behind his lab computers in a klik, avoiding the multitude of bullets coming his way. Wheeljack was forced to duck back when Shockwave came back with his own barrage of bullets, and a crackling started in the air.

Looking up sharply, Wheeljack's optics popped at the electricity that began to surge through each pod. That was NOT good. Hearing a ground bridge blast open over the roar, Wheeljack snarled when he saw Shockwave scramble through, the first time he had seen the scientist hurry over anything.

The liquid the beasts were bobbing in began to pour out of the bottom, coating the cave floor in hot fluid. Steam vented from the pods, and Wheeljack swore under his breath as he backed away with Prowl and Ultra Magnus when the beasts began to wake up, clawing, scrabbling, and battering at their glass prisons.

Shockwave had overloaded the terminal. The incubation pods were going to open up, and he was going to let those Predacons slaughter them all! Growling, Wheeljack's optics alighted upon the Synthetic energon again. Could they do it if they were hyped up on the Synthen? Then, he tossed that furtive thought away, choosing not to die like an idiot.

He shot Prowl a sarcastic look and tossed up his grenade in his hand. "Permission to employ a grenade in a confined space, Sir?"

His jibe was meant for Prowl, who scowled, but Ultra Magnus responded. "If we are all that stands between these beasts and the natives of this planet, then by all means, blow these beasts back to the Rust Age!"

Smirking, Wheeljack pulled the pin on his grenade and chucked it far, and it clattered, rolling to a beautiful stop next to the Synthen. Then, all three mechs transformed and hauled ass out of there, Ultra Magnus taking point.

Wheeljack's spark thrummed with adrenaline. Now THIS was how a mission was supposed to go!

The instant he had that thought, Wheeljack threw on the brakes and skidded to a halt with Ultra Magnus and Prowl when a ground bridge blasted open in front of them. They transformed, and Wheeljack watched with raised optics as the single most large mech he had ever seen stepped from their enemy's ground bridge. He had to be at the very LEAST as tall as Optimus.

"Who's this guy?" Wheeljack asked to no one in particular.

The mech answered for him. "The very same who has previously allowed you to live, but will not today."

Ultra Magnus recoiled, seeing the emblem on the front of his chassis. "He's the Predacon!"

Before Wheeljack could even wrap his processor around that, he felt the blast from beneath his peds when his grenade blew. Without a second thought, knowing the flames that would be surging their way, grabbed and yanked Prowl by his door wings and shoved Ultra Magnus to get them moving as they lunged away. He felt the heat singe his back.

"What have you done to my brethren?"

Wheeljack looked up with Ultra Magnus and Prowl, hearing those words. He didn't quite know what to say when it was VERY apparent what had just happened, so he just kept his mouth shut, standing to his peds and taking a defensive pose.

His head whipped towards them. Blazing yellow optics burned for vengeance.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

He charged with unnerving speed and an enraged howl. Wheeljack shot a couple of times before screwing it and throwing himself to safety, the thunderous crash of the mech's attack hitting the ground like an ominous forewarning. Surging back to his peds, Wheeljack saw Ultra Magnus grabbed and thrown across the room, like the commander had suddenly become weightless, lighter than even Arcee. Prowl charged, whipping out a stun baton, but he couldn't reach the mech before a similar fate sent him sailing across the way.

Wheeljack shot, but he barely had time to react before the full ire of the Predacon came down on him. Claws sank into his side, and the world whirled in his sight before the sense of weightlessness seized him for a brief moment. Then, he crashed into the unforgiving wall, sank to the ground, and gritted his dentures as he glared at the mech running directly towards him.

"Well then . . . Let's DANCE!"

Wheeljack surged back to his peds and ducked beneath the next clawed hand slashing down his way. The beast hit fast and furious, all sense of control gone in his sheer, uncontrollable rage, and Wheeljack slipped quick and nimble between each of the earth-shattering blows. Jumping up, Wheeljack dodged the biggest attack and shot himself back down at the Predacon, slamming his full weight into the mech.

His ped landed on the back of his head, driving his face into the dirt. Adrenaline rushing, Wheeljack charged again and socked a good one to his jaw and kicked him square in the chassis, sending him crashing into the wall. Quick to help him was Prowl, and the mech lambasted a two-handed blow with his baton right into the Predacon's gut. The electricity surged into his body. The Predacon roared in fury, and his forearm slammed across Prowl's neck.

Prowl hit the ground with the force of a falling star. Wheeljack drew his katanas when he saw the mech spasm, wings caught beneath him, and the Predacon lifted his ped, kicking Prowl across the room. Wheeljack surged forward and attacked, and he surprise laced through him when he missed, and he felt the wind knocked out of him when a fist planted square on his back and drove his chassis directly into the wall.

Every ounce of air gusted out of his body. Dazed, Wheeljack felt himself slung to the ground, and his flickering optics registered the massive fist a second before it impacted his chassis. He cried out in pain when he felt that fist hit like a hammer, forcing him deeper into the ground, over and over, and then a loud crash sounded above him, sending his assailant staggering away.

Ultra Magnus's hammer lambasted into the Predacon, saving Wheeljack from getting pummeled to death. Prowl, running back into the fray, gritted his dentures. His battle computer was processing wildly; this mech was taking them on three to one. And he wasn't even breaking a sweat, so to speak. Somewhere in the scuffle, Ultra Magnus lost his hammer, and Prowl winced when the Predacon wound up and slammed it against Ultra Magnus's face. If not for his helm, that would have broken his jaw in the LEAST.

Running forward, Prowl jammed the sparking end of the baton into the small of the mech's back. An infuriated roar rattled his audio receptors. Ducking beneath the slashing claws, Prowl nailed him in the hip and knee, the electrical pulses nearly making the mech limp. Before he could get his next attack off, he felt his arm grabbed, and he was swung and slammed into the wall.

A clawed hand pinned him to the wall. Grunting, Prowl tried to bring his attacking arm up, but he couldn't move. His optics widened when the Predacon's helm reared back and jammed forward.

Splintering pain erupted at the center of his helm. He felt a rain of glistening shards tumble down his face, and in the next instant, felt himself thrown across the room again. Prowl tumbled and skidded across his floor, and he lifted his helm to see where the enemy was and froze.

His sight glitched. Fear rose up in the back of Prowl's consciousness as he frantically looked around, static bursts marring his sight and the flawed imaging too fractured to be of any use. Wildly, Prowl's servo flashed to his face, and his fingers encountered the remnants of his visor, completely shattered.

Wheeljack grabbed the whip when he saw Prowl kneeling on the ground, optics sweeping wildly left and right. "PROWL!" Blind, blind, fragging blind! Lashing out the whip and wrapping it around the hammer raised for the kill, Wheeljack yanked it from the Predacon's grip, swinging it around with as much force as he could muster and let it crash into the Predacon. Ultra Magnus surged to his peds, lips flattened in determination as he snatched up the hammer again.

Wheeljack darted to Prowl's side, grabbing him by the shoulders and jerking him none-too-nicely to his peds in the heat of the moment. "Get the frag out of here!" he hollered to his face. His optics jumped to where the Predacon was charging again, and he yanked Prowl around until he faced the exit. "Twelve o'clock! MOVE!"

Prowl staggered, equilibrium off without his sight, and he couldn't see in front of him, couldn't see any obstructions across the ground, couldn't see ANYTHING. His vision was a shattered-glass distortion of dark blacks and browns, too little light to even see confusing images. Arms outstretched so he wouldn't run into anything and spark hammering with panic inside his chassis, Prowl stumbled in the direction that Wheeljack pointed.

Disconcertingly, behind him he could hear the enraged roars of the Predacon as they fought violently. He could feel the ground-shaking crashes, he could feel his spark beating against his chassis doors, and he could FEEL the quiver in the air of tension and danger. His rapidly calculating mind knew he was moving too slowly. He knew he wasn't moving fast enough to get out of there before he became an easy target again, but he couldn't run. Not when he couldn't see a slagging thing!

He stumbled along as quick as he could, feeling his equilibrium pitch like it was hypersensitive with every rock and pebble caught underfoot. He heard Ultra Magnus shout in pain, and similarly, Wheeljack. A second later came the frantic, "Prowl! Five o'clock! FIVE O'CLOCK!"

Prowl whirled, and his missiles on his shoulders twitched, aiming restlessly in the general direction of the oncoming danger. Did he shoot? Did he dare shoot when he didn't know exactly where his enemy was? What if he missed—?

At the last second, he opted instead to cross his arms defensively, but the mech merely grabbed him, hoisting him up and flinging him across the room. Prowl felt himself crash into something brutally, and the rock shattered beneath him, almost wrenching a wing out of joint and rubble lodging in his armor. Crying out in pain, Prowl scrambled to his peds hearing Wheeljack shouting, "Twelve! Twelve!" and instead of trying to attack or dodge, he was too caught in his fear to think of anything other than defending. Curling up again to protect his chassis and face, Prowl heard the mech's heavy steps bring him looming right above him. Fists slammed down on his shoulders with force, buckling him at the knees.

Metal crashed against metal. The garbled shout of the Predacon was combated with hands grabbing him again, jerking him to his peds and pointing him in the right direction again. "GET THE FRAG OUT OF HERE!"

Wheeljack's bellowing voice was right in his audios. Taking off in the general direction, hands spread in front of him again, he heard Wheeljack shouting, "Cover him! Cover him!" and the infuriated, hell-raising roar of the Predacon.

Prowl hurried as much as he could, feeling his plating rattling he was shaking so much. How close to the exit was he? He groped through the darkness, and his fear only lessened when he heard the grueling combat fading. Eventually he found a wall, and he followed it, door wings twitching. It was taking too long. He had to get them reinforcements. He tried to hurry, but he stumbled over his peds periodically, groping through the fractured darkness until some light began to shine, the distorted colors brightening.

He followed that light until he was cringing at how bright it was, and he knew he had hit daylight. His blindly grasping fingers slipped at the edge of the cave, and he heard Optimus's deep voice ask in worry, "Prowl?"

He flung an arm vaguely behind him. "They need help," he said, not sure beyond that what to say. He was still trembling. His plating was still rattling. He hadn't even realized how hard he was shaking until he was out of the line of fire. He felt a massive hand take his shoulder, and once again he was steered in the correct direction of the ground bridge. Then, he heard Optimus's wings snap out and the blast of his engines.

Listening to the ground bridge, Prowl staggered his way over, optics flickering and squinting against the light. He felt the energies tickle over his armor, and he stumbled his way inside. He heard the sound of his peds on the hangar floor, and he looked around as much as he could, head craning.

"Prowl?"

It seemed that everyone who saw him was just so amazed that he was blind, even when they KNEW he was blind without the visor. "Prepare the ground bridge for Optimus," he ordered tersely, mood put afoul by the gazes he could feel upon him and the anger that surged up over his handicap.

"Bumblebee, help Prowl take a seat in my medical lab."

He heard Bumblebee's confirming beep, and when he felt the scout's gentle hand on him, he felt the inexplicable urge to throw off that helping hand, wanting so much to be able to handle these things himself. As hostile as he was though, Prowl knew better. Begrudgingly letting the scout help him across the room, he was eased down on the medical berth.

Blinking, unable to see where she was, he lifted his voice. "Miko?"

There was no answer at first. Was she here? All he heard was the sound of the ground bridge opening back up and the sound of Optimus's engines clearing the area and a heavy landing. Where were Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack?

"Bumblebee, get him out of my way!"

Again, Prowl felt himself taken away. He heard Wheeljack's heavy groan, a slurred groan. He had to be close to unconsciousness. And Ultra Magnus?

Prowl paused as Bumblebee helped him sit on the floor patiently for his turn at the medic's very thin mercy. He couldn't hear Ultra Magnus. It was dead silent in the room save for Ratchet's tools humming and whirring at work.

Prowl found himself staring ahead, not sure of what he was looking at. "What happened?" he finally asked when no one filled him in.

There was a pause. And the first big mouth to say something didn't answer him, but merely stated the obvious.

"You're blind."

Prowl scowled deeply, turning his head towards the general area of that voice. "Yes, Smokescreen, I am VERY aware of that. WHAT HAPPENED?"

Ratchet's terse voice interrupted in clipped tones. "Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack have taken an extravagant beating protecting your aft, and my main concern right now is Ultra Magnus whose hand has been crushed from his body. He is currently suffering shock and is mercifully unconscious."

"Wheeljack?"

"I'll live," was the grunted answer.

There was another heavy pause, and finally, there was a small clearing of a throat. "Um, Prowl?" The voice was behind him. Prowl shifted positions, turning around so he was facing her on his knees, looking up to what was obviously a human gangway. "I'm right here."

He tilted his head up a little more when he got a clearer idea of where her voice was coming from. "I trusted you with one thing, Miko."

He wished he could see her face, wished he could see the guilt etch itself across her face as much as it colored her voice. "I had to tell someone," she said in a small voice.

"You are not my commanding officer and had no place informing anyone of my . . ." He felt his optics flicker, and his lips pressed mulishly together. "Condition."

He heard a colorful swear from Ratchet. "Oh please, don't even start this again, Prowl. Why don't you just call it what it is. It's a HANDICAP, Prowl, and the sooner you get that in your stubborn, prideful processor, the easier it's going to be to cope."

Prowl ignored him pointedly. "Doctor, this is a matter between Miko and I." He kept his gaze as close to where he thought the human was as he possibly could. He absolutely seethed on the inside at what had happened to him, and to know his eyes were unfocused, unable to even keep her properly in his sights as he talked to her irked him. "You are NOT Elita One, however much you may act like her."

"Hey, Tight Aft! Back off! If she hadn't told me to watch out for your sorry aft, what do you think would have happened, huh?" Prowl's lips thinned, and he felt his damaged wings twitch. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"That information was not hers to give out," Prowl pressed, optics dropping as he had mistakenly taken his optics off Miko and didn't know directly where Wheeljack was.

"She saved your life!"

"She betrayed my trust!"

"Stow it, Prowl," he heard Ratchet cut in sharply, and by the hard ground of his voice, knew he wasn't in the mood for any squabbling. "Miko acted with maturity and decency." Which, the medic found himself a little surprised to be saying, given the young human's history. "That's more than I can say about YOU, who would rather take his pride to his grave than admit he was wrong."

He felt his cheek twitch in muffled anger and frustration. He was about to open his mouth to defend himself again when a smaller voice cut in. "Twin Twist, do you mind if I say something?"

Prowl shuttered his optics several times. That was Jack's voice. In response to him asking permission from Twin Twist to say something, there was a slight pause as the Wrecker considered this before sighing. "Sure. Can't do much harm now that we're all coming out with the truth."

"Thank you." Prowl turned his head towards the young human, but he hadn't intended on coming against an Optimus Prime-sized argument.

"Prowl," he said seriously, "Miko has lost two bots she loved in a VERY SHORT period of time. Less than a year apart, to be exact. And now, on top of all of that, Twin Twist is dying. Do you honestly think she needs you to get on her case for being justifiably worried about you, and afraid YOU would be killed?" Prowl stared in the general direction of Jack's voice, finding him in the same likeness of a certain Orion Pax . . .

"Which, as Wheeljack said, you would have logically been killed if he hadn't known to look out for you. You owe her your life. Be grateful for that. And she hasn't just saved your life today. She saved Twin Twist from his own hand." Prowl's optics flickered; he leaned back a little. "So know that she does NOT take these things lightly. She cares about all of us, even you, so stop taking her for granted."

Prowl clenched his jaw. None of them understood. Of course none of them would. He settled back down sullenly, opting to show his silence as obedience, but apparently, that wasn't enough.

It was finally Optimus's voice that broke the silence. "Both of our young friends have shown a wisdom beyond their years, and they must be commended. Prowl, I believe you owe Miko an apology."

His dentures gritted tighter. And now he was being treated like a sparkling? Instead, he was saved by the very one he had scolded.

"It's okay, Optimus," he heard Miko say respectfully to the bot, declining what he asked of Prowl. "He only has to say it if he means it."

There was a silence after she spoke. It was an expectant silence, as if they really thought Prowl was going to apologize right then and there. He clenched his fists, refusing to let the words slip his mouth. He would sooner swallow tar. Now they all knew he was incomplete, knew he was a pathetic cripple.

Eventually, he felt the focus shift off of him. He was glad. He absolutely SEETHED to himself. Disabled, and what did he get for it? More judgment. He knew the same, vicious cycle of pity, judgment, and the coddling. He didn't want to be coddled. He wanted to be whole. And no one cared.

He was . . .

Hurt.

* * *

><p>Prowl sat.<p>

And that was all he did. The idleness of the next days killed him. He HATED inactivity when there was so much to do. Perhaps scheduling, or even something as dry as inventory records, but no, he couldn't do that. He was BLIND.

And if it wasn't bad enough, sequestered at base with nothing to do, it wasn't like he couldn't keep himself from dwelling on the matter either. Everywhere he looked—there it was. He was blind. He couldn't see anything, he couldn't do anything.

He was a liability. And a worthless liability at that.

Before he could dig himself any deeper in his ditch, a polite and nervous clearing of a throat met his audios. "Um . . . Hey, Prowl. It's me and Bumblebee. Oh! Uh, R-Raf. I was just wondering—I mean, WE were just wondering . . . Can you spare a minute to talk with us?"

Prowl's lips thinned with muffled irritation. No, he clearly had other things he needed to be doing! "What is it, Rafael?" he asked, managing to keep his temper in check for the younger child.

"Well, um . . . We just wanted to talk to you."

His audio receptors, sensitivity turned up sharp to help make up for his lack of sight, caught the sound of flesh hitting flesh. He hit himself? "I mean . . ."

Finally, Prowl sensed a weight settle next to him. *We just wanted to make sure you knew you weren't alone in this. I understand*

Prowl closed his optics at the sound of Bumblebee's modulated voice. Ah, he intended on using his handicap to comfort him. What a logical decision. "Who put you up to this, Bumblebee?" he asked tiredly.

*No one* the scout chirped back. *Just me. Well, Raf too, but just us*

"Are you all right?"

Prowl felt himself scowling, and he looked down at the floor, avoiding their gaze when he knew his optics were unfocused and Primus knew what else. "I'm fine," he said shortly. "Now if that is all you wanted, then please leave me be."

Something silent was communicated between them. Prowl felt his jaw clench that they were clearly communicating something without words, just so it went under his nose. He couldn't see their expressions or gestures, so he had nothing to go on.

Finally, Bumblebee cleared his vocalizer nervously. *You know . . . You're not the only handicapped bot in here*

Prowl grunted, refraining from saying anything he might regret later.

*And, well . . . You do know that . . . Ultra Magnus has lost his hand, right? He's handicapped too. Just like us*

Prowl felt his fingers tightening on the edge of the berth he sat upon, his words pouring upon his head like hot coals.

*And . . . You do know . . . a handicap isn't ALL that horrible . . .*

A sarcastic laugh jumped from Prowl's vocalizer before he could stop it. "Oh really? I fail to see how."

He heard the young scout's in cycle suck in air and let it out slow. Bumblebee shifted on the berth, the scratching of his metal against its surface giving him away. *Well . . . It makes you stronger. Stronger, tougher, and wiser. Yeah. It makes you a fighter. Because, you can overcome ANY disability, voice, hand, or optics. It makes you work harder to prove yourself. It makes you stronger because you've survived something and you endure something a lot of others haven't. And it makes you wiser because you have to learn your strengths*

"And it makes you realize how many people care about you," Raf suddenly chimed in. "Because everyone will pitch in to help out and support you."

Prowl vented sharply, struggling to hold back his festering anger. "I fail to see how I've received any support. They all condemn me for my mistakes. I fail to see how I've received any help."

_I fail to see anything at all._

"Ratchet's helping you," Raf said quickly. "Well, I mean, when the parts come in, he'll fix you a new visor. And . . . emotions were really high, so I'm sure people are just waiting for things to calm down, that's all."

Prowl scowled, hating his cute little diplomatic answer. "Face it, Rafael," he said to the young human. "None of them care about me. I know my place in this world, and no one has cared about me other than the fact that I do my position well." His dentures snapped shut at the painful reminder that he couldn't even do his own position's work, obsolete as he was.

There was a small pause before a quiet, "Well, WE care . . ." floated up to him from the small human. "And Miko does too. We just . . . haven't really been able to show it well when . . . you're being . . . mean . . ."

The young human's voice had nearly tapered off when he was finishing his sentence, nothing but a little whisper at the end. Prowl stared at the floor, and it was as if those were some magic words; it took a CHILD telling him this to get him to realize this? A CHILD? No older than 12 years old? Prowl had been alive for . . . millennia . . .

He tried his best to ignore the tightness in his throat. Finally, he managed to rasp around the lump crowding his throat, "Please. Leave me alone."

*We can't do that* he heard Bumblebee answer. *That was the whole point in coming over here. To make sure you weren't alone*

Dropping his face in his palms, pressing the heels of his hands into his optics to hold back the stinging, Prowl swore he wouldn't cry. It was weak. He was tired of being weak. He WASN'T weak. "Just . . . leave me alone . . ."

There was a pause, and he could feel them communicating beneath his nose again. It was unreal how they could speak to each other without saying a word. *Prowl . . . I know losing a vital part of yourself is a little traumatic . . . And for some, the scars take a little longer to heal . . . But, I know the value of putting your faith in the strength of those around you. Not only when I lost my voice box, but . . . also when I lost my T-Cog*

Prowl felt his wings twitch in surprise. He resisted the urge to try to look at the scout, knowing he wouldn't be able to see him, and he wasn't sure if his optics were clear of the wetness yet. "Your . . . T-Cog?" he finally managed.

He couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to lose your T-Cog. The ability to transform . . . lost. That was what Cybertronians WERE! They transformed! Their weapons, their alt modes, everything about them was transforming. In the wake of Bumblebee's recent disability on TOP of the loss of his voice box, Prowl was beginning to feel even more insignificant than he already was.

*Yeah. It wasn't for too long though. We got my Cog back, and Ratchet fixed it up as best he could. It jammed a little at first, but with regular checkups, everything settled back to normal. You've just gotta trust these guys. I know we're a little rough around the edges, maybe a little dysfunctional, especially in comparison to the Elite Guard, but . . . We're a family. We all really care. And if you let us, we'll support you too*

Frag him. Prowl pressed the heels of his hands harder against his damaged optics, trying to cover up his disability and hide the shameful tears that began to try and bubble up again. Just when he was getting control of himself . . .

He twitched when he felt Bumblebee's hand touch his shoulder comfortingly. *And, I know it's hard to believe now, but there's always a way around a disability. You're still just as strong as you were before, just in different ways. And that's why I know you can beat this*

He was holding himself in check by a very thin line of control. He shook from the effort of keeping his tears tucked out of sight of the young boys.

Seeing Prowl struggling so hard pulled at Raf's heart strings. His voice was almost too soft to hear, but he knew Prowl would hear it when he whispered, "Prowl . . . It's okay to cry."

His shoulder's jerked. He felt the wetness pooling in his hands, but he didn't allow it. Unable to bring himself to cry, Prowl fought back for control, hyper-aware of Bumblebee's gentle, warm touch on his shoulder. His vocalizer was so tight he almost couldn't squeeze the words out that plead for mercy.

"Please . . . L-Leave me alone . . ."

There was a moment in which they didn't go, but then, Bumblebee's servo squeezed his shoulder before letting go. *Just as long as you know you're not alone* he said seriously. *We're here for you, Prowl*

"Yeah," Raf chimed in. "Just call and we'll be here. We care."

Bumblebee nudged him one last time. *You're a part of this crazy, dysfunctional family too, so don't forget it*

Mercifully, they left him alone, but of course, they had to stomp all over his spark before doing so. His shoulders shook more. The sobs stayed tightly bottled up though, too stubborn and prideful to let anyone see him any weaker than he already was.

The tears pooling in his hands began to overflow. They were dripping from his fingers, and he couldn't stop them. He tried so hard, but he couldn't stop them. Everything was coming to a head, and he couldn't even cycle around what he was feeling.

Part of a family . . . He had never been claimed as part of a family before.

He had never . . . BELONGED.

He knew they were looking at him. He could feel their gazes on him, and he knew if he was to save any face, he had to get away. He rocketed to his peds, but he took one step before remembering that he couldn't see anything. He couldn't even go far, or anywhere yet. Defeated, he felt himself sinking back down to his knees, almost wheezing in the effort to hold back the passions ripping violently to and fro his spark.

The tears poured from his optics. They overflowed from his hands. They dripped from his fingers, littering the floor.

He sensed someone an instant before he felt arms wrap around him. Too broken to care at this point, Prowl leaned his helm against Bumblebee's chassis, taking the strength offered as comfort.

Maybe it was okay to cry.

And, maybe it was okay to belong.

Maybe it was okay to be loved.


	63. PTSD

**Author's Note:**

**First of all, I would like to point the limelight on Foxbear for her wonderful pieces "Lines" and "Innocence" that helped inspire this chapter, and I highly advise you guys go read them on her deviantart page!**

**Next, to the new favs and follows, welcome aboard the OHOS train! D-I-N-O-T-R-A-P-009, Sadisticglee, SnowHawk0316, and Dragon of Yin and Yang!**

**Rainbows and sunshine birthday cakes to all of my awesome reviewers! lolistarkiller, Dragon of Yin and Yang, BossBot97, MajorWanderer, Autobot Chromia, Spiritstrike, Grace, Katie Gibbs, couriosity, Lewascan2, Little Kunai, A Fire Bending Tiger, kittycatcalamity, The Warrior of Hope, Zypherion-DeathNova, Fanatic97, Kuurankukka, Foxbear, Neon, Filly92, and Sounddrive!**

**Oh, and to all of the people I promised that this chapter was going to be a happy one...**

**I'M SORRY. I AM SO SORRY. IT STARTED HAPPY, I SWEAR IT DID. I'M SO SORRY. GRAB YOUR HANKIES.**

* * *

><p>"Hey! Half Pint! Perfect timing. I need Raf's help."<p>

Bumblebee halted, staring at Wheeljack who was in the thick of his science. Rather DUBIOUS science by Bumblebee's standard, but that could be why he was requesting Raf's help. After all, if his chassis was popped open and he had wires hooked to and from his spark, NOTHING good could be coming from that setup.

*Um . . . He's with Prowl right now, but uh, I can go grab him if you really need him*

Wheeljack grunted, only half hearing the scout as he carefully used tweezers to tie the cut groups of wires together so two cables became one. "Hm? What? Sure. Raf." And then, his processor suddenly caught up with what he was saying. He looked up sharply from his work, blurting, "Prowl?"

Optics shifting to the exact opposite side of the room, Wheeljack saw Raf's feet typing away on a datapad—no, backspacing. Prowl's form was both tense and uncommonly relaxed. His back was stiff, door wings equally rigid, but one leg was hiked up on the table to face the datapad lying flat on its surface so Raf wouldn't run the risks of falling. His arms were stretched out and down like wooden limbs, and his fingers were curled above the pad.

The tactician didn't even so much as twitch as Raf moved carefully over the pad so he wouldn't accidentally type something. Wheeljack watched curiously as Raf resituated Prowl's fingers over the correct keys, and it took him a second to realize that Raf was watching Prowl type on the datapad. Having memorized the keys as any typist would, it was just a matter of learning to keep his hands steadier so his hands wouldn't hover over the wrong keys. Or, if he made a typo, Raf would be there to catch it. It also occurred to Wheeljack why he had seen Ratchet with Raf so commonly on his shoulder—he had been teaching that bright little kid how to read Cybertronian all along!

Raf said something first, angling his head up to look at Prowl as he did, and the tactician responded something in kind. Apparently, Raf though it was funny because he laughed and grinned, saying something back. There was the briefest twitch of Prowl's lips as the edge of his mouth curled the tiniest fraction.

As single-driven as he was to finally get this thrice-damned holoform to work correctly, Wheeljack couldn't help but grunt and turn back to his work, saying, "Never mind, I'll worry about it later." Not too smart, given how prone Wheeljack was to explosions, but seeing a mech literally break down certainly put them in a different light for a bot.

Bumblebee twittered. *It's not problem, really. I'll hang with Prowl and let Raf help you*

Wheeljack had already focused his processor's power on his project, and thus, didn't really hear what Bumblebee had said. "What? Sure, whatever." He squinted his optics harder, zooming in on the small hole he was trying to loop two opposite wires through.

About a minute later, he heard a dubious, "Wheeljack? What . . . are you trying to do?"

"Raf!" Wheeljack scooped up the human and made him squeal, and he deposited him on the table with him and offered him the tiny wires and washer that would conduct the two together. "Great timing, kid. Loop both those wires through that washer, and make sure they're real tight, all right?

Raf's brows pinched, but he took his instructions accordingly, asking, "So, what are you trying to do? Why are you hooking up your spark to . . . whatever this is?"

"I want to FEEL the protoform," he told Raf, double-checking cable integrity in his spark chamber for the umpteenth time. As always, the wiring hadn't moved. "And if I'm going to feel Miko touching me, I'm gonna need my spark hooked up to it somehow so my consciousness is actually IN the holoform, feel me?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Good. And the only reason I'm using real wiring is because I haven't figured out how to do this thing wirelessly."

For some reason, Wheeljack felt the need to defend himself over that, though he couldn't tell you why. Instead, his optics drifted back across the room to Prowl and Bumblebee. They were talking, that much he could tell by the way he could see Prowl's mouth move periodically and hear the faint beeps from Bumblebee. Periodically, Bumblebee would tell Prowl to stop, fix a typo or two, or maybe the position of his fingers, and let him begin typing again.

"You guys are good for him."

Raf glanced up. "Prowl?"

"Who else?" Wheeljack asked on a snort. "Of course, Prowl. No one could put up with poor Tight Aft but Jazz, so he's probably dying for some company."

Raf frowned as his small fingers worked the wires the way Wheeljack had told him to. He twisted and pinched their ends together in the center. "Did he really not have any friends?"

Wheeljack snorted and crossed his arms. "Other than Jazz? Highly unlikely. They were either his associates or his superiors. Prowl's not a too touchy-feely guy, and for some completely deranged reason, Jazz took a liking to him. I don't even know how they got along, they're about as far from each others' personalities as you can get."

Raf didn't comment, but he finally held the little washer up to Wheeljack. "Here you go. What do you need that for?"

Inspecting it closely to be sure it was hooked correctly, Wheeljack beamed. "Perfect! 'Atta boy. And actually, the washer is just the focal point. That way, my spark energies will go to that point right there, and I can put the force field around it. Now, since you never really know with me, though I'm hoping against my worse tendencies right now, I'm gonna make sure we don't have to end up sewing parts of you back togeth—"

"WHEELJACK! WHAT IN PRIMUS'S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

The Wrecker nearly jumped out of his protoform. Wincing when Ratchet stormed forward, he crossed an arm self-consciously over his spark, unable to close the chamber with the wires hanging out. "Doc—"

"Don't you call me that!" Ratchet snapped, so easily falling into the norm with Wheeljack that he failed to see the Wrecker flinch. "Just WHAT do you think you're hooking up to your spark? If you short-circuit yourself or manage to blow yourself up, there's nothing I can do to stitch your spark back together!"

Wheeljack cringed back defensively, glaring almost violently at the medic that towered above him. "Back off, DOC. It's my project, and I'll do whatever the hell I want."

"NOT if you're going to commit suicide in an extremely stupid way," Ratchet growled right back. "What are you doing?"

Wheeljack's lip curled. "I'm running my spark's energies out so I can get it in the holoform, all right?"

Ratchet pursed his lips. "To theoretically be able to feel the holoform yourself. Yes." Ratchet eyed the set up critically, shifting as he tried to see into Wheeljack's spark chamber. The Wrecker covered himself up more fully than before, narrowing his optics at the medic, both territorial of his work as well as not enjoying being figuratively "naked" in front of him.

The CMO gave one scathing scoff. "If you do that, you'll just short yourself out."

Wheeljack growled. "Yeah? We'll just see about that."

Ratchet flattened his lips, one edge turning sharply downwards. "Suit yourself." He snatched up Raf who had become nearly invisible beneath them, saying, "I'd rather keep Raf out of the way of the smoke."

Wheeljack growled dangerously again, plating hiking up defensively. Ratchet just took a haughty step back, waiting expectantly for Wheeljack's decision. Though he KNEW everything was wired correctly, Wheeljack double-checked his spark again and even Raf's easy part, and though he had a faint suspicion in the back of his mind because of Ratchet, went ahead and flipped the internal switch.

At first, it was perfectly fine. He felt an awkward tug on his spark and the little surge, but his sparkial energies conducted through the wiring and down to the washer acting as a focal point. Then, switching on his internal mechanism for the latest prototype of the holoform, the molecules began to gather around the washer, and the instant the energies collided, Ratchet's prediction came true.

Wheeljack didn't even get the chance to shout before the electrical surge backfired. It jolted back up through him, and there was a sharp jab of pain scorching his spark before he was completely short circuited.

Ratchet snorted when the Wrecker collapsed on the table, smoking from the chassis. Sitting Raf up on his shoulder, Ratchet turned Wheeljack over and disconnected the cables, resisting the urge to smirk at the Wrecker's efforts. Clearly, he needed a medic's touch to help merge technology with biology.

Wheeljack's optics came back on with a flicker. Seeing the hazy form of the medic above him, panic slashed violently into Wheeljack's spark. Backhanding the servo reaching for his spark, Wheeljack shoved him back, barking, "Get away from me! Don't you EVER pull scrap like that! Stay the frag away from me, got it?"

Spark hammering inside his chassis, Wheeljack fixed the medic with a gaze as threatening and dark as possible, trigger finger twitching as he tried not to pull his weapon on him. Ratchet just held up his servos and backed away, saying, "Fine then. At least let me have the deliciously smug feeling when I say this: I TOLD YOU SO."

Wheeljack scoffed and gave one sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, cause that's mature."

"I never said it was, but that doesn't diminish how good it feels."

The Wrecker harrumphed, yanking the connections loose and letting his chassis clang shut defensively. Helpfully, Raf said, "I think the washer was too small. If—"

"The washer was too small," Wheeljack replied in a clipped tone, grumpy at Ratchet calling him out on his failure. "And something in the frequencies crossed wrong. I'll figure it out later, I've gotta pick Miko up from detention."

Raf glanced down at his phone's clock. "Oh, that's right! Detention should be out now. What'd she do this time?"

Wheeljack grunted as he stood, still tingling a bit uncomfortably. "Her usual? Didn't do her homework, shot some spit balls, and is being a general b—" He stopped short and huffed. "Well, it's the end of the school year, and she's obviously having a mental breakdown, and apparently I'M supposed to be the one that makes her feel better. You know what I used to say to her?"

Raf shook his head.

Wheeljack scowled. "Great. That just makes my life a lot easier."

Irritably transforming down before they could speak again, Wheeljack tore out of the base with a squeal of tires.

With his processor doggedly fixed on his science, on equations and problems and biosignatures, Wheeljack had been able to distract his processor from it all. But now, now that he had nothing to divert his processor's attention to, he found his thoughts slipping, falling back into the darkness that was lit by a fiery flash and boom that rocked through his peds, the heat that scorched his back when he flung himself away. That sinister, hissing condemnation rose up like a pox inside him.

_**Murderer.**_

Wheeljack shook it off by flooring his gas pedal, feeling his wheels slipping in the sand and sending a fanning spray behind him to bury the grisly past. But he could remember the heat of the yellow liquid pooling on the floor, full of nutrient-giving CNA, and it burned like hot blood.

His tires hit pavement, and the extra tread made him rocket forward with speed as he ran from the ghosts of his sin. His spark hammered in his chassis. It wasn't just him. It was Ultra Magnus too. He had made the mistake of looking into the commander's optics, and what he had seen there terrified him. He saw the reason why Ultra Magnus truly was Optimus Prime's brother. The devastation, the guilt, the bleeding compassion. He knew the part he had shared in this travesty, and he was breaking under the weight of it, bearing his limb loss as a penance for his crimes, and still he didn't think his sufferings were enough.

He had looked into Prowl's optics too. Somehow, though they were blind, they seemed to cut right through him. He could see the tactician's processor already telling himself that this was the price of war. These were acceptable losses. They had done what they could, and there was no going back, only ahead. They would simply have to deal with the consequences of their ignorance, and hope for the better.

He hated Ultra Magnus's self-flagellation. He hated Prowl's logic. He hated their defense mechanisms against the tragedy. But most of all, he hated his own self-defense mechanism, because he knew without a doubt the raw, naked fear Ultra Magnus and Prowl had seen in his optics.

Pure, unadulterated terror of himself.

_**Killer.**_

Madly, and without cares for his own safety, Wheeljack floored it, darting through a red light, missing cars by inches. He could feel his protoform crawling, his spark stuttering irregularly with its beats as he fled from himself, from the anguish of that voice, so enraged with despair it curdled his energon tanks.

_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?_

Wheeljack skidded into the school in record time, cutting off several mini vans and engines idling hot in a random parking spot. He could feel his metal rattling, and his vents opened, cycling steaming air from his body.

_What have I done, what have I done, what have I done, what have I done . . .!?_

He rocked on his wheels, so desperate to move, to run, to distract himself, anything he could. But he was forced to wait idly as the kids departed from the school this week before finals, backpacks heavy with books for their studies. Eventually, he could see the detainees of detention filtering out—they, unlike the children who had stayed after school for later buses or extracurricular activities, had light book bags, less caring of their grades by default.

_**Homicidal butcher.**_

His engine revved loudly, straining as he lurched again, trying to contain the consternation consuming his soul. He saw pink pig tails look up and Miko waved, coming his way with an excited jog to see that he was finally starting to pick her up again. Wheeljack tried to slow his trembling, tried to hide the hysteria rising up in him, and he popped his door open for her, letting her toss her guitar and book bag in the back seat.

"Wheeljack!" She was so energetic, so full of energy, and she grinned, happy and bubbly that she got to see her guardian. The door slammed shut as she strapped in, hooting, "Let's go! I am so OUT of this school!"

Resisting the urge to throw himself violently into reverse, Wheeljack pulled out of the parking lot as controlled as he could, albeit still quicker than prudent.

He heard her sigh and relax in her chair, slumping and stretching. "So, what are we going to do today, Jackie?" she asked as chipper as a songbird. As innocent as a flower. "How about some dune bashing! We haven't been out dune bashing in ages!" And Primus help him, she was so wired, so full of energy, so volatile—volatile and ready to blow like a bomb, so ALIVE—

_**Murderer.**_

Wheeljack felt himself cringe inwardly, and he floored it abruptly, counting the deaths he had caused, counting the innocent lost, all twenty-four, chalking up the total to greater than it ever had been before, so many with one bomb. It was a fragging record. It was a bloody, grisly, horrible record, and the price of his actions cost the life of an entire race.

AN ENTIRE RACE.

_**You slaughtered them all.**_

He hadn't heard Miko's squealing at first. But now, she was worried, true apprehension coloring her voice as her voice quavered, squeaking and shrieking with worry when Wheeljack's speed didn't abate.

"Wheeljack? Wheeljack, what's wrong? Wheeljack, slow down! Calm down! What's wrong? Wheeljack!"

They sped down the interstate, and Wheeljack found his vocalizer so fused with fear that he couldn't respond. He couldn't get his vocals to work. Dread had seized him at his throat, crushing his neck, stifling every word he could have ever said. Turning towards the base, he whipped into the sand, the back end of the Lancia fishtailing wildly before they managed to straighten out again.

He could hear her voice, shrieking with child-like terror. "Wheeljack! Wheeljack, stop! What's wrong? What's happened? Wheeljack, please! PLEASE!"

Such raw, primal fear. A child's fear. Incoherent screaming, animalistic shrieking of dying children children children children CHILDREN—

_Sparklings, just sparklings! I killed them! I killed them all! Sparklings! Oh Primus—SPARKLINGS!_

When Miko's worry escalated to sheer panic, she pierced the bubble of control he had shielded himself with. With a broken, terrified cry, Wheeljack slammed on the breaks, skidding through the sand until he abruptly transformed. Miko shrieked, sprawling across the sands as Wheeljack broke at the knees, consumed with his transgressions. He was aware he had started to scream, and his servos came up to claw at his helm as he tried to control a massive panic attack, and he trembled, hearing the unearthly screeches of the Predacon sparklings in his audios, howls of the dying, the dying, they were dying dying dying—

_Control it, control it, by Primus, control yourself! Breathe! Stop it! Stop!_

Miko showed him a flip side of herself. He felt her hands touch his knees, pressing there with a quiet, inner strength. Her voice, previously erratic, was now calm and reassuring, full of gentle concern and patience he hadn't known she possessed, even though it quavered with worried tears. The wetness streaked down her cheeks.

"Wheeljack, easy. Breathe. It's going to be all right. Focus. Deep breaths. Calm down. I'm right here, shh . . ."

Half a sob and half a swear tore from his mouth. Wheeljack rocked, terrified of himself and what he had done, but Miko exuded strength and compassion, slim shoulders capable of bearing the weight he was breaking beneath. Shaking, he dragged in desperate cycles of air, struggling to cool himself in the heat of the day and in the heat of his passions. Miko's hand soothed over his knee, offering him the comfort he should have never received. Not while he . . . Not after he had . . .

Wheeljack shivered, audial fins pressing back as he reeled up, holding back to tumultuous feelings whipping him to and fro in his spark. He couldn't let this rip everything he was to tattered shreds. If he did, he'd never come back the same.

_**Too late.**_

Ignoring the dark voice haunting over his memories, Wheeljack swallowed a calming vent, allowing Miko's presence to soothe his spark and cover his wounds with a balm. The black voice cackled as it abated, and a last thrill of fear chased up Wheeljack's back struts—

That voice sounded too much like himself.

"Shh. Are you all right? Wheeljack?"

He sucked in a nervous breath of air, still trembling slightly. He gave a curt nod, and his vocalizer finally cracked open. "Yeah," he rasped, feeling disgustingly bogged down by his sin. "I-I'm fine."

"Wheeljack." Her voice was so patient, so loving, and he hated it. He didn't deserve her love. After what he had done—no. He shouldn't have even fought. He should have taken those claws to his spark and let the mech finish him off. "Wheeljack, let me in. Don't shut me out. What happened?"

He shook his head. His audial fins twitched again as he gusted out a heavy breath, managing tightly, "It's nothing, Miko. You don't need to know."

Miko bit her lip, continuing in her caressing of his knee. She was no one's fool, as much as the world tried to paint her as stupid and delinquent. She had seen the signs Wheeljack had exhibited over the time she had known him. And now, more pressingly, Twin Twist. Of course she hadn't sat back and done nothing, she had taken to the books, searching the internet for what she could regarding their violent and passionate symptoms. She could hardly find any two candidates exhibiting such extreme symptoms of PTSD than Twin Twist or Wheeljack. She knew what she was dealing with, and it frustrated her, but she knew each person had to heal at a different rate, right? She wanted to push him, but she knew she couldn't. She bit her lip, forcing her heart to do one of the hardest things it had ever done as she looked up at her father who was suffering something beyond the realm of what she could fix.

"Well, whenever you feel like it, I'm right here. I'll always be right here for you, Wheeljack . . . Dad. I'm always here for you. Don't ever feel like you can't talk to me, okay?"

The barest hint of betrayal in her voice was enough to cause jagged lacerations to cut over his spark. Filled with agony, Wheeljack bowed over close to her, nudging his helm again her as he cracked out, "It's not your fault. It's mine, all mine . . . And this—This isn't the kind of stuff you need to know."

One of her hands touched his cheek warmly, her thumb drawing little circles. "You've shared things with me before," she murmured. "You told me about the torture chambers. You even told me about Pyro."

Wheeljack flinched. "Miko, please don't," he rasped. His servo cupped around her, and the other one clenched into the ground, the sand slipping from between his fingers.

Her touch only became more tender. "You don't have to, but you can tell me anything."

A pained whine echoed deep in his gears. "Miko, don't, please," he whispered again, spark shivering in its casing. "Just . . . Just be there for me, okay?"

She nodded, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. "I will."

"I just need you there . . . to . . . hold me together . . . because I can feel my soul fading every day . . . Please, Miko, please . . . Save me from what I've become!"

His voice broke, terrified with tears, and he vented hard, hot air gusting around her. He felt her press in close, murmuring, "Shh, I'm here. I'm here, I won't ever let anything happen to you, I promise," and her lips brushed against him again, soothing his unbridled fear.

He didn't know if was crying or not. His body shuddered as he prostrated himself before her, rasping, "Please, please, save me . . . save me . . . please . . . save me from what I've become . . . from myself . . ."

She didn't let him go. She whispered everything he needed to hear, and she kissed him, tenderizing his wounds and healing his spark. And he trembled, locked in an ugly war with himself.

_**Murderer.**_

* * *

><p>"Commander? Are you all right?"<p>

The concern in the rookie's voice whipped through him like a bullet. For a brief second, Ultra Magnus looked up, and Smokescreen's door wings tipped down, wary of the shattered look before the SIC got a hold of himself, concealing the tumultuous emotions ravaging his spark inside.

"I am fine, soldier," he replied in a clipped tone, inclining his helm stiffly. "Go about your business."

Smokescreen bit his lip at the dismissal, shifting on his peds nervously. "I'm on my off shift right now, Sir," he replied as respectfully as possible. "And I uh, just wanted to make sure you were all right. You looked like you were in a lot of pain. Should I get Ratchet?"

His fingers dug into his palms so tightly he felt his circuits straining, ready to pop and snap at any given moment if he didn't relax. "The doctor has enough to worry about at the moment," he managed. In the remains of the stump of his right hand, he felt the gears and articulating cables pull on damaged mesh and components no longer there. "I do not require his attention."

Rocking back on his heels, Smokescreen felt his door wings twitch nervously as he toed the line that separated rank. "Sir," he asked softly, "what happened out there?"

Ultra Magnus felt himself flinch minutely, and a soft whine echoed from his gears as he held back the suffocating guilt that crashed over him. That voice roared out, condemning his sin with fury-filled despair.

_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?_

"Optimus has not yet debriefed you?" he asked quietly, using the pronoun collectively. Smokescreen shook his head. Energon tanks churning, Ultra Magnus resisted the bile that wanted to rise up. "Project Predacon has been terminated," he said, spark reeling in pain. "Shockwave's laboratory was detonated, and all the life inside eliminated." He felt the rookie physically still across from him at the unsaid truth implied between the lines of his words, a gruesome, macabre truth that stained his servos with the energon of innocents. "A mech walked through the Decepticon ground bridge; the Predacon. Fully transformed. Fully sentient. And he proceeded to beat the living spark out of Wheeljack, Prowl, and I to avenge his fallen brethren."

Smokescreen didn't respond, but the horrified silence he exuded was enough. Ultra Magnus quaked on the inside, and he kept his helm down, unwilling to gaze upon the sickening look etched across the rookie's face. "Go tell the others," he ordered him quietly, so plagued by what had happened that he almost couldn't speak around the misery. "And leave me alone."

There was a short pause, as if Smokescreen wanted to say more, but he finally just nodded his helm and murmured an obedient, "Yes, Sir," before disappearing off, leaving Ultra Magnus mercifully alone.

He bowed his helm, spark shivering inside his chassis. That wasn't even the half of it. He could let them know of the genocide. They had to know, or else they would come up with their own conclusions when there were no more Predacons.

But . . . The SPARKLINGS . . .

_Sparklings . . . Oh Primus, what have I done? Murderer . . . Why?_

"Ultra Magnus."

He jumped, hypersensitive to everything around him, and he looked up to see Optimus standing before him, brows pinched with worry. And he knew with one look that this conversation was the last thing he wanted to have, but he knew his brother wouldn't let it rest.

Stiffly, he inclined his helm towards him. "Optimus."

Against his spark, he felt the faintest brush of compassion and the offer to listen, but Ultra Magnus felt himself clamming up, and he pulled away, trying to erect walls between them. Optimus had enough problems. The least he could do was bear his on his own.

He heard the sighing vent release from Optimus's body. Taking a seat on the berth with him, Optimus reached out, laying his hand gently over Ultra Magnus' stumped limb. "Brother," he murmured gently. "Please, don't shut me out."

A tremble ran up Ultra Magnus's back. The Predacon sparklings had awoken too early. They hadn't yet reached full maturity, and he could remember the image of them all waking up in their pools of CNA, jerking and thrashing, literally drowning in the life-giving substance until the pod drained enough for them to breathe; a similar affliction Ultra Magnus had felt when he was first pulled out of stasis on Earth.

"My crime is beyond redemption," he finally said tersely. "I am no better than a Decepticon if my actions as a leader cannot be distinguished between Autobot and Decepticon."

He could feel that insufferable compassion pressing against his spark, trying to soothe his guilt. Ultra Magnus stubbornly pushed it away, feeling undeserving as he shook his helm. "Do not try to defend my actions, Optimus," he almost snapped before he could open his mouth. "My ignorance does not protect me from the energon staining my servos. I was the one who gave the order! I sanctioned the killing of innocent sparklings without so much as a second thought!"

He looked up into his brother's optics, consternation overflowing from his wounds like pus, dirtying him, disgusting him. "Sparklings, Optimus. Fully sentient, Cybertronian life. Sparked from science or not, sentient or not, they were alive, and they were innocent, and I KILLED them." He could feel his plating trembling beneath the weight that slowly crushed him beneath his sins.

Twenty-four casualties were the cost of being an Autobot. No, of his own mistake. One, grisly, horrible mistake that cut him open twenty-four times and let his viscera bleed onto the floor. He had condemned an entire race before it even had the chance to live.

Optimus gently pressed against his spark again, offering his comfort and companionship, and his compassion surged feeling his brother's energies exuding raging pain and shame. The taste of bitter guilt stung his glossia, and he reached out again, this time putting his servo on his shoulder, intending to bring his older brother into his arms. "Ultra Magnus—"

"Stop it," he rasped. He turned his helm stiffly away, refusing to take the empathy he didn't deserve. "I—I don't want your pity. I don't want your mercy, and I don't want your forgiveness."

He felt his words cut into his brother's spark. For a moment, Optimus didn't say anything, but merely let his servo drop from Ultra Magnus's shoulder. He rose from the berth, and he moved to stand directly in front of Ultra Magnus. Taking his shoulders, he forced him to turn towards him, and he took his chin, coercing his face upwards when he refused to look at him.

Fathomless azure optics looked into the depths of his guilty spark. "Regardless of what you do not want from me," Optimus told him softly, "you will always have my love. And once you have settled your regret, come back to me, and I will welcome you with open arms."

Ultra Magnus closed his optics when Optimus retreated, his spark receiving one last embrace from the younger before he disappeared to catch up with the long string of work Ultra Magnus's inactivity and Prowl's recent handicap was causing. And in a sick, twisted way, Ultra Magnus wished for Prowl's handicap. He wanted to be blind. He didn't want to have to see those sparklings struggling in their cages, hitting the glass, screaming to be set free, screaming for help, a grisly shriek that marked his audio receptors like a tattoo, forever ingrained on his soul. He didn't want to see them, everywhere he looked, everywhere he turned, like ghosts haunting his spark, their spirits thrashing in his sights, drowning, dying, caged, innocent sparklings.

He offlined his optics trying to erase the spectral visions from his sight. But even with his optics offline, he could still see them, forever stitched into his processor, unable to be forgotten or forgiven.

* * *

><p>Typing doggedly, too stubborn to give up, Prowl steadily plucked at the datapad, Bumblebee across from him to help. Raf soon came back too, Wheeljack heading out to pick up Miko from detention, and Prowl was uncertain yet whether he appreciated him being there. He liked the young human, he even liked Bumblebee, but . . . right now, he would rather be alone in his misery than here with them.<p>

What he couldn't come to a conclusion to was why he couldn't ask them to leave him alone.

His calculating mind wouldn't stop, no matter how he tried to flood his databanks to solely focus on typing up this report. Twenty-four Predacon sparklings. He had let Ultra Magnus make that order, allowed Wheeljack to carry it out, and he did not speak up once about the moral ambiguity—no, the WRONGNESS of killing the sparklings. He had merely taken a back seat and allowed the doomed tragedy to happen.

Twenty-four Predacon sparklings.

Twenty-four innocents.

Twenty-four murders.

Twenty-four sins.

Twenty-four ways for Prowl to mutilate his spark with guilt—

"Prowl?" It was Raf's voice that suddenly piped up. "Are you all right? Your hands are shaking."

Snapping back to the present, Prowl felt the tremors up his arms, and he quickly came to the same conclusion Raf had. Forcibly controlling the shakes, he managed in a clipped tone, "I am fine." He made a small show of stretching his arms. "An articulating cable was pinched." He brought his servos roughly back to the same place as before, and he felt Bumblebee's servos take his and move him the tiniest motion to the left.

They fell back into silence, sensing something was wrong, and Prowl blinked his optics, trying to dispel the image of the transformed Predacon, a mech, with a sneer of loathing hatred far beyond what Prowl had even known. Then, the quick jab of his helm forward and pain, the shattering of glass, blindness.

_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?_

Prowl thought it out logically in his mind as his servos moved of their own accord, the typing becoming a background program as his processing power ran rampant with panic. There was no way they could have let the Predacon sparklings live. They were too dangerous. There was no way they could possibly let them live and allow Megatron to use them to destroy humankind, and then, the rest of the Autobots. If one Predacon sent them running, twenty-four of them would decimate them. If they hadn't nipped Project Predacon at the bud, the war would be lost.

But they were sparklings, weren't they? They posed no threat yet.

Even if they HADN'T been fully grown at the time when Shockwave released them from their incubation, they would grow. And after they had dealt with one Predacon that utterly wiped the floor with them in nearly every encounter, there was no way they could let Megatron have a group weapon of mass destruction at his disposal. Sparklings or not, they would have been Decepticons.

But what if they hadn't been Decepticons? What if, since they were so young, the Autobots could have taken them in, taught them right from wrong, gave them a just conscience unlike the Predacon's mech corrupt views?

Prowl's processor warred with itself angrily. His spark bogged down with twisted regret, at odds with what was morally right and what was logical. Even if the Autobots had tried to take them in, what was the chances that these Predacons would have listened to them? What was the chances that their higher intelligence overcame their base instincts? Even if they had saved them, brought them under their wing, there was no place to keep twenty-four unruly sparkling Predacons, there weren't enough people to look after them, there weren't enough resources to keep them all alive when the Autobots struggled to even find enough energon to keep themselves functioning.

*Prowl,* he heard Bumblebee say softly with a clear of his vocalizer. *You . . . You're writing . . . Um . . . Ultra Magnus had Smokescreen tell us all what happened. And . . . Well . . .*

He trailed off, not knowing what to say. Prowl felt his servos begin to tremble again. That was right. They had to know about the genocide. It was the only way to explain why Project Predacon was no more. Terminated with one grenade, Primus, only ONE grenade to kill twenty-four sparklings. He had never hear of a number like that being documented before, twenty-four murdered with one grenade, just one order, one grenade, one mistake.

Raf glanced between them, biting his lip. "Prowl . . . What did you guys do?"

_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?_

His question was too close to those words that were haunting him. His fist slammed down on the datapad before he could stop it, snapping, "What was necessary!"

His words whipped between them like a bullet. He ground his dentures harshly, servos curling into tight fists as he looked away, his fractured sight shifting radically with the movement, threatening to give him an even bigger processor ache than before.

A hand laid on top of his. *We know, Prowl. It's okay—*

"Not it is not!" he bit out angrily, and he yanked his servos away. His logic chips fritzed and his spark rolled over in turmoil, so at odds with himself he was sure he would be ripped in two. "I am the tactician! I should have spoken up, told Ultra Magnus how wrong our actions were and should not have let Wheeljack hurl that grenade."

He heard a small click from Bumblebee and the shutter of his vents. *Prowl, you didn't know—*

"Do not coddle me, Bumblebee!" he said harshly, and he fisted his servos, glaring to the side. "I am not to be excused for my mistake. Regardless of if I knew they were sentient sparks or not, they should have never been terminated. We have become inured to the horrors of war. We have allowed our sparks and processors to be deteriorated to a depraved degree, becoming no better than the Decepticons. This genocide—this calamity has been wrought by our own hands, and we will bear the price of our transgressions." He lifted his hand, closed his optics, and touched his broken sight with energon-stained fingers. "This is the price I pay. And by it I suffer."

Soft, warm fingers pressed on his side, and his stomach flexed reflexively, not expecting the human's touch. "Prowl . . ." he said softly, but he didn't say anything more. COULDN'T say anything more. A tender hug pressed to his side.

*Prowl* His audials perked at the sound of the scout's modulated voice, but he didn't look up, just stared into the shattered glass of his existence. *Ratchet is going to fix another visor for your optics, and I don't want you to turn his hard work down because of guilt*

Prowl's lip curled. "You don't understand anything," he hissed to the young scout, painfully aware that he had killed younglings even more adolescent than him.

*You're right* Bumblebee said honestly. *I don't understand. But what I know, and what you know, is that we need you. We're too far in this war to go on without your strength and skills, Prowl. You wanted so desperately to be whole again. Ratchet isn't going to let him down, and you can't let us down either. We need every hand we can get, and yours are too valuable to keep in disuse*

Bumblebee paused, and Prowl felt the mech's servo rest on his shoulder. *Prowl, regardless of what happened out there, things happen in war. We all know it. Some things are controllable, some uncontrollable. Sometimes we'll make the biggest mistakes in our life, but we have to learn to work through them, learn from them, grow stronger from them*

Prowl gave one flat, bitter laugh. "You have no idea, Bumblebee," he replied cynically. His wings twitched, a shudder running down his back in the remembrance of those sparklings thrashing in terrified ignorance inside their caged pods. "You have no idea of the horror I helped commit . . ."

That servo on his shoulder squeezed. *Then tell me. You might remember me as a youngling, but I've grown up. I can handle it, Prowl. What happened? Don't shut me out*

He turned stiffly away, dislodging the scout's touch. He shifted on the berth, trying to remove Raf's touch from his side. "No. Things like this aren't meant for audios like yours. Now leave me alone. I don't want to talk about this."

There was a pause between the scout and his human partner, and Prowl could feel the wordless conversation passing beneath his nose. Finally, he heard Raf say softly, "Well, we won't leave, but we don't have to talk about it. We'll just keep you company."

Prowl felt his spark cry out in frustration. He didn't want their company! He didn't want their pity! He just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his misery . . .

"Do you want to finish your report?"

It was Raf again. With a shaky vent, Prowl stiffened his shoulders and carefully held out his servos, a silent entreaty to distract his mind from the dark path it was on.

*Hold on, you've made some spelling errors*

Bumblebee said it quickly but as nonchalantly as he possibly could. Preoccupied in his own anguish, Prowl didn't notice the underlying misgivings in his vocalizer. For once, Bumblebee was glad Prowl was blind. He began to backspace the words, spark clenching tight as he erased them from existence. At least his blindness afforded him this one brief reprise of just another laceration to his already wounded spark.

**Murderer. Twenty-four sparklings. One grenade. What have I done? What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?**

The words slowly disappeared. Bumblebee felt his servos tremble just as much as Prowl's did as he erased the words of the tactician's guilt, but was unable to erase the guilt of his very actions.

** Murderer. Twenty-four sparklings. One grenade. What have I done?**

Raf bit his lip, his silent tears having gone unnoticed by the Prowl since he couldn't see them. He was using a tissue from his backpack to hold back his sniffles, revulsion spread across his features along with fear and heartbrokenness.

** Murderer. Twenty-four sparklings. One grenade.**

Such words seemed so harmless, but they were emblazoned on his very spark, on his soul, on his mind, over everything he was. Even unknowingly, he had prostrated his regrets out on paper, had poured more out to the young boys than he was willing to.

** Murderer. Twenty-four sparklings.**

Bumblebee didn't say anything, allowing Prowl to keep his anonymity. He could tell them, by his mouth, on his own time that the genocide was more than just that, but an misguided slaughter of sentient sparklings.

** Murderer.**

Until then, his words were erased from existence.


	64. Clarity

**Author's Note:**

**Hello! Guess who's back from the dead? YAY! Finals are over, I'm writing again, and thank you for your wonderful patience as I wrestled with this chapter and finally got it to work correctly.**

**I want to show LOTS of love towards Foxbear for allowing me so long ago to use her line about Decepticons and Autobots because she put it so much better than I could ever have. Check out her little story "Lines" on her deviantart account! (I don't think she has it posted on her fanfic account, unless I'm mistaken.)**

**And, because I forgot about all this last chapter...**

**Oodles of love towards my new favs/followers couriosity, Dreamtraveler1313, wowgata, REDBEAST, annpar2009, Hana Noir, Done for Today, smokies girl and Filly92!**

**Hallelujah to all my awesome reviewers Leviprime, wowgata, MajorWanderer, A Fire Bending Tiger, Miko873, lolistarkiller, Lewascan2, SilenceSpeaksWhenWordsCan't, Foxbear, The Warrior of Hope, couriosity, Autobot Chromia, BossBot97, Kuurankukka, Neon, kittycatcalamity, Grace, Azul the blue, Katie Gibbs, Little Kunai, Spiritstrike, Sounddrive, ZabuzasGirl, Fanatic97, Dragon of Yin and Yang, and Zypherion-DeathNova!**

* * *

><p>Two days later, nine explosions, five major patch jobs, three reattached hands, one reattached arm, and absolutely no recharging, Arcee finally realized she couldn't give Wheeljack his space. He wasn't taking care of himself, and yes, he was prone to explosions, but not this many. Whatever was on his mind, he was distracted enough from his science he couldn't even think through it enough to make sure he didn't make the stupid mistakes he was doing.<p>

Ratchet was hot under his collar, ready to throttle anyone he saw, and was stretched thin under his work load. He had finally attached a rudimentary servo to Ultra Magnus, putting Elita in charge of his therapy because he couldn't spare the time yet. However grateful Ultra Magnus professed he was for having the clawed servo, there was a haunted disposition behind his optics, overcome with guilt and not wanting the servo, but wanting it and disappointed it wasn't his own servo. Ratchet, empathetic as he was, picked up on these things, and he only grew more clipped and irritable by the day. On top of that, Ratchet could see Ultra Magnus, Wheeljack, and Prowl all suffering since the day Project Predacon had been eliminated, and he didn't have the time with everything else to properly give them the therapeutic sessions they needed. It frustrated the medic to helplessness that he saw his team falling apart and he had no way to heal them.

Fixing Wheeljack so many times over had caused Ratchet to the blow up at the mech, and Wheeljack had equally railed at him, terrified and violent, nearly coming to blows with the doctor until Optimus had firmly stepped in to rebuke them both and Elita handled attaching Wheeljack's hand.

The thought of Ratchet and Wheeljack fighting so angrily caused Arcee's spark to sink. If they continued like this, Wheeljack would never trust him enough to fix him.

Walking to the end of the silo that Wheeljack had commandeered for himself, Arcee stifled a small sigh seeing him embroiled deep in his science, a place he hadn't risen from for days. She stopped in front of him, watching for a moment as he pointedly ignored her, talented fingers toying with mechanisms too small for his digits. She cleared her suddenly thick throat.

"Wheeljack?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Arcee vented softly, biting her bottom lip. She reached her hand out to him. "Are you sure? I think it would help—"

Her vocalizer fused shut when he flinched away from the small brush of her fingers on his audio. Her servo froze, extended uncertainly, and he muttered, "Well, I don't think it will. Now leave me alone, I've got slag to do."

Her servo snapped back to her side. As expected, his words did exactly what he wanted them to do; they made her angry. "And we have to go through this stage in our relationship again?" Arcee retorted, wing struts flattening as she gave him a flat glare. "Every time I try to get close you have to shut down like this? You NEED to talk about it, Wheeljack, it's eating you up."

"I'm perfectly fine," he grumbled without looking at her.

Her servos planted themselves on her hips. "Says the one who's blown himself up so many times."

Wheeljack scowled, not for one second stopping his tinkering. "Yeah? Think you can do this complicated science better than I can?"

"I wasn't insinuating that," she shot back, lips pressing to hold back the anger. "I want to help you, Wheeljack. Don't shut me out. What's bothering—?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" he growled, his audios flattening backwards.

Arcee gave one flat laugh. "Oh, what, that's it? So we can get naked, but I can't undress your spark? I thought you said you loved me. Loved ones don't shut each other out."

"Love's got nothing to do with this," Wheeljack muttered, and he swore when his fingers pinched a connection too hard and caused the mechanism to short out. He pushed the remains away with a disgruntled snarl. "Look, I'm just asking for a little space, all right? Cut me some slack and give me some respect. If I'm not ready to talk about it, I'm not ready!"

A silence settled over them. Wheeljack's part in the effort to shun her, and Arcee in the effort to get a hold of her piquing temper. Cycling steadily, Arcee forced herself to calm down. One part of being in love with someone was knowing them well, and she knew Wheeljack's way of plucking up her temper so she'd leave him alone. Well, it wasn't going to work this time.

Moving up to his side, she reached out to him, and he flinched away again. "Stop that," she murmured softly, but firmly. "We're not going to talk about it." Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him to her chassis, fingers soothing over his helm.

A tight, hot gust of air hit her chassis. "Arcee . . . Let go of me."

"Not a chance," she whispered, cradling his face near her chassis. She put a soft kiss on his helm and sighed, thumbing his audio receptors tenderly. "I've missed holding you like this."

The moment seemed to stretch to excruciating as Wheeljack decided whether or not to allow her touch, and finally, Arcee heard a sharp "tsk" expelled on a harsh breath. His large servos came up, wrapping around her shoulders and waist as he pulled her close and flush against his chassis.

He buried his face into her neck. "Can I ask why you put up with me?"

A small, tender smile curled her lip plates, and Arcee gave a throaty chuckle. "Because I'm in love with you."

Wheeljack grunted. "That's not what I meant." His fingers tightened around her. "I mean . . . why do you love me? I'm short-tempered, stubborn, explosion-prone, I can't let the past rest, I'm a broken mess . . . It just doesn't seem like there's much to love."

"Don't forget cocky to a fault." When he gave a frustrated sound, Arcee chuckled softly, pressing her cheek to the top of his helm. "And can't take a joke . . ." She gave a soft sigh, playing gently behind Wheeljack's large audio receptors as she contemplated her answer. "Let's start from the outside. As much as I hate to admit it, as it's only going to make you even more cocky than before, you are a VERY good-looking mech, and I'd have to be catatonic not to notice."

The slightest snort graced her audio receptors, and Arcee's mouth tipped up when she garnered an unwilling laugh from him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoed him. His finger ghosted up and down her back once, restless, before they came to rest at her waist. "And as much as your cockiness annoys me, there's a part of me that really likes it. It's that self-satisfied attitude, the smug comments, the body language—I can't stand it all, but dear Primus, do I LIKE it all."

She felt his cheek against her chassis, and it pulled, betraying his smile. "So my cockiness to you is how your sassiness is to me."

Arcee pursed her lips. "I suppose you could put it like that. And if we start to delve deeper into that personality of yours . . . You're determined. You're protective. You're loyal. Even though you're not patient, you always get to the heart of the matter." Absently, she traced her digits on the inside of Wheeljack's audio receptors, making them twitch slightly. He pressed into her chassis. "Though a bit graceless and inexperienced at times, you make a wonderful father. And even though you don't speak much, you always know just what to say."

Wheeljack interrupted her with a slight grunt. "Yeah? That still doesn't explain why you're in love with me."

"It doesn't?" Arcee asked innocently. She dropped her fingers, tracing them down his back. "You see, Wheeljack, we know each other too well. And the truth of the matter is that, the better you know someone, the more you see all of their flaws. I know your flaws, and you know mine. And the decision to love is a conscious one. I chose to love you despite all your problems. I love you in spite of the way you act when you're desperate, when you're afraid . . ." She pulled back so she could see his face, blue optics fused into red. "When you're guilty. Love is patient; kind; not easily angered; and it doesn't keep a record of the wrongs in a person's past. I love you because I choose to. Love is pain and sacrifice. It's seeing the darkness in someone and denying the impulse to jump ship."

She watched his optics flicker uneasily as he tried to digest this. "That still doesn't make any sense," he finally murmured softly. "Why would you want to put up with me?"

She chuckled softly and nuzzled their helms together. "Let's just call it an unhealthy insanity, Wheeljack. You ask too many questions."

He sighed softly, and his lips grazed hers with a soft kiss. "Thanks, Angel. I can't imagine the mess I'd be without you."

Arcee bit her lip, pleased with the sudden change in nickname, but also trying to fight back a smile and a saucy remark. But it slipped out anyways.

"I can imagine, and you don't look too pretty."

Wheeljack gave a long suffering groan, and he dropped his helm on her shoulder with the sarcastic remark, "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence."

Arcee chuckled huskily, nuzzling the large audio receptor in front of her face. "Well, let's not forget that I was a mess when you found me, too."

He perked up a little. "You were?"

Ah, that was right. Arcee's spark did an uncomfortable little flip in her chassis as she remembered that while everything felt right, his processor was still in jumbles. He was still programmed to kill Autobots, and he still didn't remember anything of his time with them. She vented softly, and she gave him a small smile as she eased down into his lap.

"I think it's about time we started from the beginning."

* * *

><p>"Agent Fowler, that's just not good enough! Surely you can spare some materials—"<p>

"And I'm telling you that we don't just have that much laying around anywhere! And even if we did, diamonds are COSTLY, Doc! To get that much would cost a fortune—"

"Don't call me Doc!"

"Then don't get snippy with me—!"

It was easy to hear their voices raising. Elita hurried her way over to where Ratchet was towering above Fowler, plating puffed up and all. He was really torqued off. "Ratchet! Agent Fowler!" she cut in smoothly, coming to stand beside Ratchet and forcing him to straighten up and step to the side to acknowledge her presence. "What seems to be the problem?"

Both immediately spoke at once.

"He seems to think the Pentagon is made of money and resources—!"

"He is refusing to help when I have disabled patients—!"

Elita's ready smile finally flattened out when they threw their arms out at each other, and she held up one curt hand. Both of their mouths shut instantly, albeit that both males gave each other dagger eyes. She inclined her head and smiled again. "Thank you. Now," and she turned to Ratchet, hiking up a brow that told him not to waste her time. "Would you please explain your side of this argument?"

She watched his optics narrow as he dared her not to mess with him while he was under such stress, but also within the lines of knowing she WAS his superior. His hands planted themselves on his hips, and the irritation and stress rolled from him in waves. "Ma'am, Agent Fowler does not seem to comprehend that Prowl is BLIND. Without his visor, he is a liability, and yes, crippled of almost any use. I need materials to rebuild him a visor, and I've already scraped the very bottom of the barrel to procure enough to manage to give Ultra Magnus the appendage I have."

Elita nodded, and then she turned to Agent Fowler who was much more civilized in the presence of a female. "Agent Fowler?"

He inclined his head. "Lady Prime. What Ratchet does not understand is that he is asking for tons of DIAMOND. The Pentagon does not have that much diamond just lying around for the taking, and diamonds are very expensive. We wouldn't be able to spare that much funding to fix one mech's visor."

Her processor was already alive with different ideas as she contemplated how to make a bridge between their problems. Something available with the correct properties Ratchet was looking for, but something affordable. Elita groused to herself. She was no one's scientist—that titled belonged to Greenlight—but there could be ONE possible alternative . . .

She looked up to the medic in question. "Ratchet. Do you possibly think that cubic zirconia could work?"

His optics flickered. He frowned. A servo stole up to pinch at his chin as he muttered, "Cubic zirconia . . . Hard, similar, but . . . Hm . . . Maybe if I . . . But no, that wouldn't connect correctly, and even if it did—"

"Ratchet." The medic snapped out of his rapid musings, and Elita gave him a gentle smile while reaching out to pat his shoulder. "It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be enough."

He stared unblinking for one second before he scoffed grumpily, saying, "I know that!" After a minute more of contemplation, he finally gave a disgruntled huff and crossed his arms. "Fine. That could possibly work, though it's not making my job any easier. Does that fit your criteria of CHEAPNESS, Agent Fowler?"

The human didn't even bat an eyelash at the crisp tone of voice. "That will do nicely, Lady Prime," he said graciously to her, bypassing Ratchet's snide remark completely. "I'll have the shipment in as soon as possible. Now, if you'll please excuse me . . ." And he backed his way into his office after giving Elita a small bow.

Once gone, Elita sighed and looked to Ratchet. "There was no need to antagonize him, Ratchet. He is only our liaison, and the humans have been gracious enough to allow us asylum on their planet."

Elita's audios perked as she heard him mutter under his breath, almost inaudibly, "Yeah, well you haven't been the one that's had to put up with him for this long . . ."

She gave a knowing arch of her brows. "What was that, Doctor? I'm afraid I missed that."

Ratchet straightened his shoulders stiffly, quickly saying, "It was nothing, Ma'am. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have a lot of work to do."

Elita hurried to grab his arm before he could get away. "Ratchet, please." He barely turned, just enough to acknowledge her, and she squeezed him comfortingly, lowering her voice softly. "Our lack of resources has nothing to do with your abilities as a medic."

She watched his lips press tightly. "I have failed one too many patients over the years, Elita, and I do not plan to fall short on others."

She tugged him again before he could dislodge her touch. "You haven't fallen short on anyone, Ratchet, you—"

He turned sharply on her, optics dark. "Elita," he stressed tightly, "how can you say that? How can you POSSIBLY say that? Look around us! Look at this team! The hand I've attached to Ultra Magnus can hardly be seen as enough. Wheeljack's processor is warped inside out, Bumblebee's voice box STILL isn't fixed, Prowl is blind again—I couldn't even have the chance to operate on Optimus when the base fell! Elita, this team is falling apart, and I can do NOTHING to help them!"

Elita's spark squeezed. "Ratchet, you've done more than enough. You've kept us alive."

He gave a scathing scoff. "Tell that to Cliffjumper the next time you see him."

"Ratchet." She gave him a firm shake, catching his attention. "There was NOTHING you could have done for Cliffjumper. You've done all you can for us—"

"And that's the problem!" he cut in angrily, blue optics flashing at her. "I am tired of not being able to do anything! I can't do anything for anyone anymore! All I can isn't enough anymore, Elita. The Decepticons are winning the race of resources, and we Autobots are slowly becoming more and more handicapped." He lifted his servos between them, helplessness creeping up in his voice. "These hands are not meant to patch enough for people to get along, Elita, they are meant to HEAL."

Elita gave a soft, sad sigh as she looked at the brokenness in his optics. "Ratchet—"

"Do you know what my vow as a physician was?" Ratchet interrupted again before she could say anything. His servos clenched, and they shook. "First: DO. NO. HARM. I can't even remember the first time I took a life. The times where I physically and mentally chose one patient over another because of dwindling resources. You don't know what that's like, Elita! I have seen too many mechs waste away, seen too many broken beyond repair, seen too many living with only parts of their body or sanity intact. I am FAILING as a medic."

She vented again. "Ratchet," she said sternly, but compassionately, "you must understand that you have done more than anyone else could have ever done in your position with the limited supplies you have. You are NOT a failure, and you never have been. Where would Ultra Magnus be right now if it weren't for your medical skills? Or Arcee?"

He winced at the reminder, as if pained at any reminder of the good he had done. He stiffly turned, making her lose her grip on him. "Please excuse me, Ma'am," he said quietly. "I have too much work to do."

Her shoulders sagged slightly. "Dismissed, Ratchet," she replied softly, watching with heavy spark as he retreated back into the work that just seemed to pile up higher than he could process. Turning her helm, across the way she saw Arcee talking with Wheeljack, apparently making more headway than Elita had with Ratchet. Then, further down the way, her spark skipped an involuntary beat when she saw Optimus Prime.

Swallowing and taking a steadying breath, Elita walked across the base to the mech who was buried in a datapad, helping ease Ratchet, Prowl, and Ultra Magnus's load in any way he could. He looked up as she approached, and his pinched brows immediately smoothed as he smiled warmly.

"Elita." A shiver tickled its way up her back at the sound of her name in his lovely deep baritone. "How may I help you?"

She tried vainly to hold back a schoolgirl blush. She cleared her throat, just to check for any quivering. "I'm afraid Ratchet is very down on himself," she told him, and she watched as those solid blue optics shifted their attention from her to the medic across the base. "I was thinking you may make more headway than I did."

He sat aside the datapad, brows cinched in worry. "Thank you, Elita," he said, standing. He looked down at her, and Elita felt herself swimming in a pool of butterflies. "Was there anything else you needed?"

_Yes. Kiss me again, please. No! Elita, please get a hold of yourself . . ._ Clearing her throat again, it did nothing to help the stutter in her voice. "N-No, that was all." She had to resist the urge to slap her hand to her forehead. Could she possibly react more like a love-sick child? "J-Just Ratchet."

He just smiled again at her apparent crushing, and he took the time to steal the back of her servo to his lips and kiss her before excusing himself and making his way over to Ratchet. The hot flush of energon seared her cheeks, and she knew that he had seen it and she knew that he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

_Why, if he thinks he can just shake me up like this anytime he wants, I'm going to haul off and hit him next time!_

Elita stood, lips pressing in annoyance because she knew he was messing with her processor. Primus, he was messing with her processor even when he WASN'T actively messing with her processor. It seemed like every time she turned around, she was thinking about him, or she was actively trying to find an excuse to be near him. It just wasn't going to do. There was no way she could fall for a mech so quickly.

In the middle of her internal tirade, her optics grazed Smokescreen logging another route in the computers, and further down, almost in a corner, bent over his datapad and 3-clawed servo clenching almost rhythmically, was Ultra Magnus. A light bulb lit slowly in her mind. If she was supposedly Optimus Prime's spark mate, as rumor had it, then that would, by extension, make her Ultra Magnus's sister.

Her processor stalled briefly on the strangeness of the thought before her peds started in motion and brought her forward.

Ultra Magnus glanced up when she approached, but the creases in his brows didn't fade. He nodded his helm to her. "Elita One."

She nodded back. "Ultra Magnus." She sat across from him, showing immediately that she intended to stay for a good talk. "How are you feeling today?"

There was a pause. Then, a hesitant, "I think, better than I have been. I am finally beginning to handle my new appendage in a somewhat proficient manner."

Elita smiled. "That's good." She paused, wondering if she should even bring it up. "Now . . . How is your processor? Whatever happened out in Shockwave's lab . . . it shook you up badly, Ultra Magnus."

"Please," he said immediately, "when it is just us, just Magnus will do. It . . . sounds strange and formal coming from you."

Elita blinked and leaned back. Ultra Magnus asking anyone to do away with formalities? "I'm . . . sorry," she finally managed to enunciate in confusion, brows cinching a little. "You've always seemed so by-the-book."

He paused, and his optics finally met hers for the first time. "Truthfully, Elita, between us and Optimus, formalities never existed."

She just barely managed to control the blush because of what his words implied. Clearing her vocalizer conspicuously, Elita steered the conversation away from herself. "Yes. Magnus. Project Predacon . . .?" When his optics flicked back down and he hesitated, she reached out, pointedly laying her hand on the clawed servo. "You can talk to me about anything, Magnus."

The servo twitched, trying to move. Its dexterity was haphazardous at best, and Elita refrained from holding the hand any tighter, inferring the movement as trying to tense up into a fist. "I know that," he said quietly. "I just . . . Assumed you knew by now."

"Knew what?"

He turned his helm away in shame. "I thought . . . Prowl had finished the report."

"He hasn't quite yet." Elita paused. "He's been having troubles as well, and not just his lack of sight."

Ultra Magnus vented tightly. "Elita . . . You do know that Project Predacon was terminated, correct?"

That servo continued to twitch beneath her hand. She soothed her fingers over it, trying to assuage the guilt wrought over his face. "Yes, I know that," she replied.

Ultra Magnus released a blasting vent. "Elita, if you would . . . please take my hand. I cannot seem to hold yours correctly."

Elita stilled at his request before she slipped her servo in the 3-clawed one, squeezing it in support. She witnessed his shoulders release a small degree of tension.

"Thank you," he murmured in a hushed tone. He lapsed into silence again, content to hold her hand, and Elita waited—albeit, a little impatiently—but tried her best to hold her tongue as she wasn't known for having the best patience in the world. But, as it turned out, her patience was rewarded.

"Sparklings." The word was barely the breath of a whisper. She felt a tremble through his frame rock all the way down to the servo she held. "Elita . . . The Predacons we terminated . . . were just sparklings." Her spark leapt to her throat, lodging there. She squeezed his hand tighter. "They were all premature yet. They were all roughly Bumblebee's size . . ." His vocalizer hitched. "They were scared," he rasped, trembling. Unbidden, Elita scooted across the medical slab to him, taking his other hand. His powerful grip nearly crushed her servo.

"They were so scared," he whispered, vocalizer cracking with suppressed passion. "And I . . . I gave the order to kill them. It doesn't matter that I didn't know they were sentient at the time, and it doesn't matter that I didn't realize how young they really were, Elita, they were innocent. They were innocent, they were unarmed, they had no idea . . . They . . . I . . ."

"Shh," she finally said softly, squeezing his hands as he released a choking vent above her head. "It's all right. It's going to be all right. Breathe."

He shuddered. "No, it's not all right." He shook his helm, and his optics danced wildly as he looked down on her. "Elita, that was the order of a Decepticon commander. Of a coward. What kind of being could kill . . . mere sparklings? Predacons or not, they were sparklings . . . SPARKLINGS . . . What—What kind of mech am I to kill sparklings . . . ?"

Elita paused, gathering her bearings. "A misinformed one," she said softly, stroking her thumbs on the back of his hands. "You didn't know any better, Ultra Magnus. These kinds of mistakes happen in war."

He twitched with a rough breath, and his optics dropped, unable to look at her directly. "There aren't room for mistakes in war," he muttered.

Her optics softened. "Now you're sounding like Prowl," she said just as quietly. "Do you remember when Springer bombed that hospital?" Ultra Magnus winced. "He was misinformed too. You see, Magnus, we aren't just machines. Yes, we calculate, and we are precise, but we are not perfect. No living thing is perfect. And a part of living is knowing that we are all capable of mistakes. Even Optimus. You've been there by his side in some of his greatest mistakes."

When she heard his vents shift painfully and a shudder to rock his shoulders, compassion flowed up out of her spark. Releasing his hands and reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in close for a hug. His ventilations seized, and he returned the embrace, dipping his helm against her shoulder.

"I know it hurts," she murmured softly in his audio receptors. "It's going to hurt for a long while, I'm sure, but . . . just like any mistake, we are to learn from them. We grow. We transform. And with the support of friends, you'll make it through this, Magnus."

She rested her chin on top of his helm, feeling him tremble. "Friends . . ." he murmured back. She felt his arms tighten. His voice rasped. "And . . . family . . ."

This time, it was Elita's turn to suppress a slight tremble. Family? She looked across the base again, and she saw Optimus talking with Ratchet. His hand was on the medic's shoulder, but a telling smile was on his face. She watched Ratchet's hand come up with a dismissal, but whatever he said must have been good because Optimus's smile deepened fractionally. He squeezed the medic's shoulder before excusing himself, and his optics caught with Elita's.

Her spark tripped again. His optics softened at the sight of them, and from across the way, she saw his lips mouth the words, "Thank you," with such simple, painful clarity that she felt her spark breaking apart again. Thank you for Ratchet? Thank you for Magnus? Possibly both, she wasn't sure, she couldn't know, but she looked away shyly, feeling that ever-present pain in her spark.

Spark break, Ratchet had called it.

She was beginning to believe him.

* * *

><p>A polite clearing of a throat brought both Wheeljack and Arcee's helms down. Wheeljack frowned when he saw none other than Mrs. Davis standing politely at their peds.<p>

"Arcee," she asked, "would you mind terribly if I cut in?"

The femme smiled, and before Wheeljack could grab her and force her to stay, she had stood, saying, "Of course not, Mrs. Davis. Would you like a boost up?"

"Please."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics. "I mind," he stated to no one in particular as both women seemed to ignore him completely. His lips slanted down as Mrs. Davis was placed on the table next to him, and Arcee quickly excused herself.

Mrs. Davis smiled. "Hello, Wheeljack. How are you?"

"I'm fine!" he practically barked at her. "What do you want?"

That infuriating smile stayed. "Well, Miko mentioned she was worried about you—"

"Of course it was fragging Miko," Wheeljack muttered under his breath.

"—and she wanted me to check on you. Now, since you're being so frank with me, would you rather I be frank as well, or treat you with a bit more class?"

He leaned down with a snarl. "You don't have to pamper me," he spat. "Spit it out."

Mrs. Davis inclined her head to him. "Of course. Miko also states that she heard from Raf that the last mission you were on ended with you, Ultra Magnus, and Prowl terminating Project Predacon, killing 24 Predacon spa—"

"Don't you say it!" he snapped, jabbing a finger down at her. His dentures gnashed tightly as he glared so hard with blood-red optics that it should have made any weaker being step back. Mrs. Davis didn't move. "You keep that mouth of yours shut unless you want your jaw on the floor."

She nodded, brown hair swaying. "I see your tendency for violence whenever we breach an uncomfortable subject for you prevails again."

His lip curled dangerously. "LEAVE. ME. ALONE."

"And now you'll push everyone away to try to deal with the problem on your own."

"Get out!" he snapped, raising his voice unintentionally. "Get the frag out, and if you come back, you'll regret it."

Mrs. Davis released a patient breath. "I see. May I sit down?" Before he could get his tongue-tied glossia to work, she had already sat down crisscross on the table. "Now. How are you feeling, Wheeljack?"

"Irritated," he snapped again. He flung an arm out towards the door. "Now get out!"

She laced her hands in her lap. "Why do I make you irritated?"

"Because you're a decaying sack of flesh who can't keep her nose out of what's not her business!" he growled, fist clenching tightly.

She still sat there. Much to Wheeljack's carangid, she wasn't leaving him, and in fact, she seemed quite hell bent on staying. "You lash out when you're afraid," she said plainly. "So why are you so scared?"

He rocketed to his peds. He leveled a lethal glare at her, fingers twitching and curling into tight fists. "I. Am. Not. AFRAID," Wheeljack hissed.

She arched one patient brow. "Then why are you shaking?"

He nearly hauled off and crushed her where she stood. He twitched at the pin-point accurate detail, but instead snarled, "I'm shaking because I'm trying not to crush your tiny little body into gunpowder!"

"Then why won't you let me say that word?" Against his will, he froze up, jaw locking tightly. "You know what word I'm talking about, Wheeljack. Sp—"

"Don't you say it!" he snapped, metal hinging up defensively.

She inclined her head. "Then you say it." His vocalizer fused tightly, and Mrs. Davis nodded again, green eyes piercing him. "One of us has to say it so we can face the problem, Wheeljack."

His lips trembled for an instant before he pressed them together. "No we don't."

"Yes, we do. Wheeljack, if you can't even face the core of the problem, you'll never be able to settle your guilt."

Wheeljack locked his knees and leered down at the small human that so calmly dared to challenge him. "What do you know about guilt?" he hissed.

She blinked at him. "Sparklings."

Wheeljack winced. A sickening sense of vertigo hit him, and he sank back down on the berth, feeling that unspeakable remorse infesting inside him.

_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?_

A shiver traveled up his back. He had never heard such passion in a cry before . . . A cold feeling crawled over his protoform.

"Wheeljack? Are you all right?"

He seized in a tight cycle of air. "I don't know," he snarled a bit bitterly. "Why don't you tell me? Since you seem to know everything about what's going on with me."

Mrs. Davis paused, assessing him, and Wheeljack tried not to squirm under her gaze. "Contrary to what you may think, Wheeljack, I don't know everything. All I can gather is that you're not all right. You're eaten up with guilt over killing those sparklings, and I'm trying to help you, if you'd let me."

He gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Yeah? You think you can help me? I'm messed up, Mrs. Davis. I'm messed up, fragged up, and no amount of talking or therapy or scrap is going to fix me."

She gave him a soft smile. Getting up, she walked over to put a hand on his hip. "Wheeljack, it's not the therapy that helps fix you up. That just helps you think through things. Love is what's going to help you through this."

He winced. "Fraggin' Primus, do you EVER say anything wrong?"

Mrs. Davis made a face and gave a slight shrug. "If getting chased from my house by a knife counts? Then yes, I've had my share of saying the wrong thing."

Wheeljack shuttered wide red optics at her. "What?"

She shook her head and waved a hand. "Another story for another day. This is about you, Wheeljack. Now, can you tell me why killing those Predacon sparklings is bothering you so much?"

Wheeljack's lip snarled up again. "What is there to tell?" he snapped angrily. His audio fins flattened back, and his fists clenched. "I killed SPARKLINGS, Mrs. Davis! I picked up the grenade, I pulled the pin, I threw it, I killed them! 24 sparklings!" He threw his arms out in frustration, noting his violently shaking hands. "Primus, that's no better than lining up Jack, Raf, and Miko and popping a clip right in the center of their foreheads!"

He felt her hand tighten on his hip. "Wheeljack, don't talk like that."

"And why not?" he snarled. "That's exactly what I did! Baby Cybertronians, Mrs. Davis! I killed them!"

"I know," she murmured. He felt her hand begin to do that motion, that calming, circular motion it always did when she was soothing him. "Hush. Calm down, Wheeljack. We're going to get through this."

"And what's there to get through? I killed them. End of story."

"Clearly, it's not the end of the story if you're still so consumed about it," she said gently. Wheeljack frowned, shoulders bunching up defensively at her kindness towards him. "I thought they were Predacons. I thought—"

"They weren't intelligent?" He gave the bark of a hateful laugh. "Yeah, I thought so too."

Mrs. Davis paused, but her hands continued to soothe him. "Then you didn't fully realize the impact of what you were doing," she clarified gently.

Wheeljack snarled, turning his face away. "Not the point. Mrs. Davis."

"Then what is the point?"

The moment drew out as Wheeljack brooded, consumed with past actions while Mrs. Davis waited patiently for him to come out of his shell. Her touch continued to circle, steady, unchanging. Finally, he muttered, "What's the difference between an Autobot and a Decepticon?"

Mrs. Davis craned her head back, blinking up at him. "What?"

"I'm sure you've got an idea," he gruffly grumbled. "Come on now. What's the difference between Autobots and Decepticons?"

Mrs. Davis paused as she truly considered the question. "What you stand for," she finally said. "From what I can tell, the Autobots represent honor, loyalty, compassion. You fight for those weaker than you." Her voice nearly cracked on her last words, knowing she had already inadvertently hit the issue on the nose. "Decepticons represent deception, hatred, and injustice. They are a far cry from helping those weaker than them."

Wheeljack grunted. "Yeah." He planted his hands on either side of him, palms flat against the table they sat upon. "We had a creed, you know. A pretty little set of rules so Cybertronians would know what an Autobot was. But in war, you had to shave off little corners of the rulebook right? You have to be practical in war. Some of the rules looked real silly in light of what we could and couldn't do. So the Wreckers, we were the ones that toed that line, Mrs. Davis. We could do things no one else could."

Mrs. Davis paused at the implications he presented to her. She bit her tongue, and though she was sure she shouldn't ask . . . "Then what is the difference between being a Decepticon and a Wrecker?"

He felt his vents seize up. He felt his spark aching. "There were lines we didn't cross, Mrs. Davis. We never offlined parents or guardians to sparklings. We never offlined spark mates. And we never, never killed sparklings. Of course there were others, but . . . those . . . those were the big ones."

Wheeljack shivered. He trembled from the core of his spark out. He swallowed, vocalizer cracking weakly as he whispered, "I crossed that line, Mrs. Davis. I crossed it, and it's never coming back." His servos shook madly. Sucking in a tight breath, he clenched his servos into tight fists, rasping hoarsely, "So what's the difference between a 'Con and a Wrecker, Mrs. Davis?"

For a minute, she didn't answer. Then, he felt her climb up on his thigh, and she reached up, pressing her hands against his chassis, over his spark. His red optics flickered down at her, painfully aware he had switched sides one too many times in the war.

Fathomless green optics bored into him. "I think you already know the answer to that question," she murmured.

He gave a weak laugh. "Seems like a pretty fragging weak answer."

"On the contrary," she said gently. "It's the only answer. And it's a powerful answer. That's how we draw the line between good and evil. Now. As for that guilt bothering you so much . . ."

"I know how to deal with guilt, Mrs. Davis," he interrupted on a sigh. He knew it all too well. "It's just gonna be Pit waiting for it to abate."

Mrs. Davis chuckled softly. "Well, just remember, love's the best remedy. So don't shut Miko out. She wants to help so bad."

Wheeljack sighed, shoulders slumping. He rubbed his face. "Yeah," he said thickly. "Yeah, I know." With a long-suffering sigh, he gusted out all of the air he had before cycling again. He glanced directly across the room to see Prowl stiffly typing across from Bumblebee. "Gimme a minute, Mrs. Davis. I gotta talk with him."

Wheeljack gently placed Mrs. Davis back on table before striding over to Prowl. Bumblebee looked up. Wheeljack jerked his thumb. "Get out of here, half pint. I need to talk to Tight Aft alone."

Bumblebee stuttered uncertainly as he hastily made his exit, but Wheeljack was focused on the thin line of Prowl's mouth. He waited with crossed arms until Prowl finally unlocked jaw and spoke.

"What is it you want, Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack grunted. "What's the difference between an Autobot and a Decepticon?"

He watched the emotions flicker across his face. In his optics. Without his visor, he was so easily read. Finally, he settled on irritation, saying crisply, "I know the code, Wheeljack—"

"Yeah, you know the code," Wheeljack interrupted. "You know every Primus-damned rule in the book, but can you tell me the one thing we forgot?"

There was a beat of silence as Prowl gazed straight ahead, not looking at him. He could see the amount of processing power he was using as he stared fixedly forward, trying to unravel the question Wheeljack had given him. Just to bother him more, Wheeljack nudged, "C'mon now, Prowl. Use that smart processor I know you've got. What's the missing rule?"

"I'm thinking," he replied coolly.

"Then stop thinking, or you'll never understand," Wheeljack said. He witnessed Prowl's fingers twitch. "I'll give you a hint: you need to FEEL this answer."

A brief silence overtook them before he saw Prowl's optics flare open wide. A sharp gasp seized in his vents, and he rocketed to his peds, his hand groping out to the side for him. "Wheeljack—Wheeljack—" His servo clamped down on Wheeljack's forearm, and the Wrecker watched as the truth hit Prowl a little heavier than it did him since Prowl was always so unfeeling. This was the most emotion he had ever seen the cold tactician show.

His grip was tight. "Wheeljack—Oh Primus, how did I miss it . . ." His knees wavered a minute, and he braced himself against Wheeljack. His other hand came up and covered his shattered optics, shuddering. "Oh my Primus . . ."

It was a little awkward, especially knowing the odds they had been at all the time, but Wheeljack lifted a hand, patting his shoulder. "Yeah, I know. Truth hits a bit hard, doesn't it?" Blindly, Prowl nodded his helm, not trusting himself to look up yet. Wheeljack vented, closing his optics.

"Just . . . reminding you it's all right to feel. That we should feel."

"Stop it," Prowl suddenly said tightly. "I'm . . ." He shuddered, and his door wings drooped. "I'm through crying, Wheeljack," he gritted out roughly, "and if you say one more thing . . ."

Wheeljack nodded, and he gripped his shoulder tightly. "Yeah. I know."

It was funny, what a tragedy did to people. One minute, sworn enemies, the next? Wheeljack didn't know what to call this. Mutual anger? A common agony? Or a common guilt, at least. Prowl's servo clutched him almost desperately for strength, and the sick irony of that was Wheeljack was holding on to him for the same exact thing. It was kinda sad, how low they had to fall to get their moral compasses on the same track. But things could only look up from now, right?

They had to. If Wheeljack was grieving with a mech he couldn't stand more than anything in the world . . . Yeah. Things were finally starting to look up.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon; closer to the evening hours at this point and time as Elita stood outside of the main hangar. She made a false move to go inside, then was wracked with nerves and blew out a huge gusting vent. Whirling, striding a few steps away, she smoothed her armor plating nervously.<p>

_Come now, Elita. You were so ready to just do it before. What's the big hold up, dear?_

Bolstering her courage could be tricky. It took her too many false starts and encouraging words laced with just the slightest sting of sarcastic vex. She had to pester her pride with just the right kind of nudge to get herself all plucky when the situation was particularly sticky . . . She flushed at the mere thought.

Blasting out another cycle of air, Elita's shoulders slumped as she resolved to finally stop being the spineless little ninny she was.

_Elita, you are second in command, the General of this army. You can do anything._

She squared her shoulders and hiked her chin up. Optics flaring, she walked tall to the opening of the base again, and mid-stride at the entrance, she saw his gentle hand dwarfing his brother's elbow and intense, sweet azure optics giving him his undivided attention. Elita muffled a squeak, reeled back so quickly she almost planted her butt on the ground, and darted back outside, all the while praying that no one had seen her making a fool of herself.

She pressed her back against the wall of the hangar, spark sputtering in a lovesick tizzy and vents stuttering with infatuation.

_Okay. Anything but that._

Absolutely sure that her face was as pink as her paint job, Elita sucked in a steadying breath and forced herself to stand up straight. She could do this. It wasn't as if she was in stone cold in love with the fool . . . She pursed her lips stubbornly. No, she wasn't going to swoon right into his arms. She knew the game he was playing, and it wasn't going to work. This was an educated and highly thought out decision. And if she didn't like the outcome, she could always break the bond if he wasn't true.

Satisfied with her train of thought, Elita moved to the edge of the opening to the base. For some reason, her peds chose at that moment to fuse back to the ground and ingrain their roots to the spot. Her throat bobbed. Leaning forward a little, she peeked around the doorjamb.

He had moved on from Ultra Magnus; the Lieutenant was speaking with Smokescreen. Now, he was inspecting something on the screen of the computer, Elita wasn't sure what . . . But his optics, they flicked quickly across the information without a single shutter, the years of practice as an archivist showing in the concentration of those fathomless blue pools of crystal. His fingers flew, deft and quick, the masterful stroke of a librarian's digits.

Elita leaned back, and she felt her knees wobble. Warmth fluttered in her stomach and kissed her cheeks, and she pressed her servos to her face.

_Oh Primus. Elita, you are more than a little moony. You are absolutely smitten._

Her palms covered her flaming cheeks. She squeezed her optics shut, shuddering out an uneven vent as her spark puttered a mile a minute.

_I am so love struck._

She didn't know when she had suddenly fallen so hard helm over peds for him. Maybe it was that bewitching baritone. That certainly had to be a factor since it sent her insides melting every time he spoke with such a lovely deep voice. Maybe it was the way his servo would warm her arm when he gently led her along when they walked together. Or the utterly electrifying kiss that consistently frequented her dreams. Or maybe it was that spellbinding charm. Perhaps it was those optics, so deep, so intense, so profound that they captivated her beyond her processing power. Maybe it was that devilishly handsome smile when she got him to laugh, the spread of those lips, the way his optics closed with delight before opening again and shining at her with crippling devotion.

There was a polite clearing of a throat. Elita jumped, and her sight dropped low to a rickety red truck parked directly across from her. A hologram smoked a cigar behind the windshield.

"So? You gonna stand out here forever or what?"

If possible, Elita blushed even more. But at the same time, her processing power jumped and her optics widened in confusion. She blurted the name of the first mech she thought of.

"Kup?"

The man snorted, but his teeth flashed with a rueful smile. "No, Ma'am. But I've been mistaken for so many different mechs at this point that the next fingers pointing will be declaring me Springer or Alpha Trion himself!"

"I'm sorry," Elita said, rubbing behind her neck. "I just . . . Then, what is your name?"

"I don't have a name," he replied, taking his cowboy hat off in the presence of a lady. He leaned an elbow out on the door of the truck, an action that would only deepen his stark farmer's tan. His brows pinched in heavy thought. "Well . . . Maybe I had a name once upon a lifetime. But at this point in my life with so many other names floating around in this noodle of mine, I'm afraid I can't rightly seem to pull back my own."

Elita's brow pinched with a frown. "I'm sorry," she said again. She crouched, wrapping her arms around her knees and balancing on her peds. "That's so unfortunate."

The stranger gave a soft chuckle, and he passed his hand out the window, knocking a bit of ash off the edge of his cigar. "Not particularly, so don't worry yourself, pretty lady. I've been lovingly dubbed 'Chief' by a stubborn crankcase if you're really looking to give me a name."

Elita's lips twisted up in amusement. "A crankcase? That's not very nice to call ANYONE."

The Chief snorted. Gossamer smoke wreathed his face. "Yeah? It's true. Never been with a particular case like his so long in my life. I'm gonna be deader than a doornail by the time he gets himself straightened out."

Slowly, it occurred to Elita that she had beaten her way around his former question. Hiking her chin up, almost a little defensively, she said, "And yes. I am going in."

He chuckled in his throat, and creased cheeks pulled, deepening the wrinkles. "Is that so? Then let's see it already."

Her ornate helm reeled back at the blatant challenge. "I AM," she stressed again, affronted that he thought she didn't have the ball bearings. Unfolding her frame, Elita paused again, wondering just how to approach him. After all, you couldn't just go up and ASK someone something like that, regardless if it was what he was wanting . . . Surely she had to have a little class.

"Ahem." Elita jumped. Patiently, the Chief hiked a brow at her.

Smoothing her plating nervously again, Elita puffed out a breath and tried to relax her face so the annoyed expression wouldn't be plastered all over her. This time, just as she was crossing inside, she slowed and bit her lip. Dear Primus that waist was so distracting. Even with such a large frame, it dipped just so, a curvy slide of seduction. His hips shifted when he reset his weight to his other leg, jutting one of his hips until the position was dangerously sexy. It wasn't until he literally turned and looked at her, optics colliding, that Elita felt a devastating flush of heat make her cheeks glow as she turned sharply on her heel and walked back out.

Her ankles felt a bit wobbly. She crossed her arms over her stomach, trying to still the amount of butterflies nesting there.

_Smooth, Elita, smooth. Oh dear Primus above, since when have I been so timid? I am ELITA ONE. I've had mechs falling over their peds for me all my life and now I can't even . . . _

Another gentle clearing of a throat brought her sights back down to the Chief. She winced at the squeal of hinges when he exited the truck, cowboy boots hitting the dust of the earth and the door screeched back shut. "Let's start with something simple," he said, coming around to stand at the front of the little red pickup. He leaned on the grill, sucking patiently on his cigar. "Why are you trying to deny that you're in love with him?"

Elita's optics popped, and she huffed, crossing her arms and squatting back down with a pensive look. "Oh, so that's the EASY question?" she quipped back. When the Chief didn't answer, Elita sighed, pursing her lips. Her facial features wrinkled. Her vocalizer refused to function.

"Spit it out, dear."

She huffed a vent. "There's no way I fell in love with him that quickly."

The Chief grunted in amusement. "And why not?"

She hiked her chin up. "I am not so easily swept off my feet, sir, and a bat of a pair of pretty optics isn't going to sway me."

The Chief held up both hands to her, a gesture of surrender. "All right, little lady, no need to get your panties in a twist." A dark brow arched above steely brown eyes. "Then if not that, maybe you're a bit afraid?"

Elita's arms crossed haughtily, and she tossed her ornate helm. "Fear has nothing to do with it," she said, delicately skirting around the issue without outright denying it. "You don't just hand your spark over to anyone."

The sun slowly began to dip behind him, but he didn't cast a shadow. Elita shifted, frowning, but the Chief didn't pause. He simply chewed on the edge of his cigar more vigorously.

"But he's not just anyone, is he? He's Optimus Prime."

"Yes. Leader of the Autobots."

"And the mech you're in love with."

"He's the mech I'm blindly infatuated with." Elita scoffed slightly under her breath, shaking her head. "I don't know what I was thinking." She stood, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as she tried to control the dancing butterflies. "I'm just a crushing fool. I've barely known the mech even a human month. I can't believe I was about to do something so rash."

A loud snort brought her optics sharp gaze down on the human. "Darlin'," he drawled out, "are you really going to turn him down because the situation isn't sane? Love's crazy, m'dear, and you're nervous. Why?"

She tried to fight a blush, but it seemed to swallow up her face until she glowed. "He could be using me," she argued weakly. "I barely know him."

"You know him better than anyone else," the Chief pointed out.

Elita flushed more. "Look—"

"Face it, miss, if you're in love with him, I don't see why you're hesitating." Elita bit her lip as the Chief took a lazy draught of his cigar. "After all, if you love him, it doesn't matter if he really was your spark mate or not in the beginning."

"Yes it does," she whispered, crouching back down. "He'd be a liar then."

"Is he a liar?"

The gauntlet hit the floor between them. Elita sucked in a breath, swallowing hard. "I don't know—"

"Try me again when you're serious, dear."

Elita glared at him for one moment before releasing a defeated sigh. She chafed her arms, unwillingly muttering, "No."

"Then quit being such a chicken and go get him."

Her jaw nearly dropped. "Did you just call me a chicken?"

The Chief sucked in a pointed breath of nicotine before breathing out a curling cloud of smoke. "BOK. BOK. BOK."

Jolting to her peds as if electrocuted, Elita's optics blazed at his provoking words. "I am NOT a CHICKEN," she stressed, optics cutting straight through the amused human. "No one intimidates me, not even Optimus Prime! And if you think I'll stand here and let you slight me like this, you've got another thing coming." She hiked her chin up. "Me? A coward? Ha! I'll show you."

The Chief's brows shot up, and he ceased to puff on his cigar as he stared at her as she worked herself into quite the lather over his words. His brows pinched, and he frowned to himself, muttering, "Might've hit the button a little too hard there . . ."

Arranging herself once more, Elita huffed under her breath, grumbling, "Ha, me, scared . . . I'm Elita One. Second in Command of the Autobot army. The greatest femme cultural investigator, I took on GLADIATORS even before I had an ounce of fighting skills!" She bounced lightly on her peds, empowering herself and smoothing her plating once more. The Chief smirked to himself, and faded into darkness.

"Led the charge on Uraya and Kalis! I best even the toughest of mechs in hand-to-hand combat! Defended a hospital with just my little unit of femmes against more than two dozen Decepticons! Held out on Simfur's base with minimal casualties until reinforcements got their slogging afts out there!" Elita shook her helm, bouncing a little more as she got her adrenaline flowing some in remembrance, bolstering her courage. "That's right! I am ELITA ONE. I'm not scared of anyone, not Optimus Prime, not a pair of pretty optics. I can do this, and I can do it with such sass I'll leave his jaw on the floor."

Fully convinced in herself by now, Elita tossed her helm, released a harsh vent that expelled the last of her self-doubt, relaxed her body enough for just the right edge of sultriness, and strode into the base.

Spark stuttering nervously at the mere sight of him, Elita's chest heaved another tight breath as she forced herself to continue walking. The sexy edge of her walk receded, but that was good even if she didn't realize it, because it made her more herself. But goodness he was tall, that just wasn't going to do . . .

She walked up behind him. "Optimus Prime, I need to speak with you."  
>He turned from the computer, blinking down at her. "Elita!" he said. "What—"<p>

Elita grabbed his hand and tugged him. "Come here." Surprisingly, he wordlessly followed her without question. Bringing him to the closest table, she planted him in front of it and then proceeded to step up, wanting to be closer to his height. The view improved greatly since she was all but looking directly into his optics, but that also sent the butterflies fluttering madly; and it also let her see that all of the Autobots were in the room, as well as the kids, though the latter half of them were engrossed in the corner playing video games.

_Now or never. If you cop out now, you'll never have the confidence._

Elita took a deep breath to bolster her courage, hiked her chin up, and looked him dead in the optics as she said, "I'm ready to fix our bond."

She watched him physically reel back. His optics expanded, dilating wide, and it was like she had opened up the entire flood of the glossy blue sea. For a second, he just stared, confusion and shock written across every feature. Then, his vocalizer cracked out, "You . . . What?"

_Great. I've caused his processor emergency shutdown._

Throat tightening, she forced herself to say it again. "I'm ready to fix our bond."

His breath caught. He whirled, and it was as if the years were suddenly stripped from him. He lifted his servos to his helm, grasping there as he tried to soak in the momentous information. He spun back to her. "A-Are you sure?"

Elita nodded. "Yes. I wouldn't have come if I wasn't."

His chassis shuddered, and Elita watched with just the slightest twinge of impatience as his palm pressed to his forehead, optics shuttering rapidly. She honestly hadn't thought he wouldn't be able to process it. In fact, she had expected something more . . . forceful and immediate that would have dragged her off to the nearest section of privacy.

Finally, Optimus turned back to her, neck tightening. Criminally beautiful blue optics gazed into her. "Are you sure?" he asked again.

Huffing slightly, Elita put her servos on her hips. "Optimus, I already told you—"

"No," he interrupted, and she felt his large hands take her shoulders, shaking her just slightly. Impassioned optics cut deep as he rasped, "Are you SURE? This is your spark, not just . . . an amour in passing, Elita. I want to make sure that YOU are ready for this and not that you are just appeasing me."

Elita nodded. "I'm sure. I know it's my decision."

His servos tightened. She witnessed his throat work around the unspeakable hope lodging in him. "And you still wish to . . ." Optimus stopped for a moment, and he closed his optics to cycle a steadying breath. His optics shuttered back open to focus seriously on her. "I've been trying to hold back these feelings for so long now . . ." he whispered in such a wistful undertone even Elita could barely hear him. "I don't want to push, Elita . . . You are absolutely sure?"

She pursed her lips and planted her servos on her hips again. "Optimus Prime, if I have to say that I'm sure one more time . . . Now are we going to get it on, or do I need to come back later?"

That comment made his lips tug upwards and his optics to twinkle with delight. With a soft laugh, he took a hand behind her helm and pulled her forehead to his lips, pressing a deep and sweet kiss there. Leaning his helm against hers, crystal azure optics gazed into hers with such fervency that she felt a tingle start from her peds and shiver all the way up to her helm antenna. "May I please kiss you?" he asked huskily, an echo of where their last kiss had landed them.

Elita swallowed, blushing a little. "You just did," she reminded him.

Optimus laughed deeply, flashing a half-crooked, devilish smile that made her spark skip. "I meant like this . . ."

His mouth pressed against hers, and every head in the room immediately turned away. Though gentle, his kiss was generous, magnetic, and Elita leaned up into him, tasting bliss once again. A muffled groan caught in his vocalizer. His servos tightened on her, and Elita felt her arms steal up and around his neck, pulling herself closer to him as his mouth continued a steamy dance against hers. Static prickling across her circuits, Elita parted his mouth, sliding her glossia against his.

An indecipherable sound grunted from him. Before Elita could register what he was doing, she felt a pair of hands take her behind both of her knees, and she squeaked when he suddenly yanked her up so her thighs were astride his hips, legs wrapped around him. Grabbing him so she wouldn't fall, she felt an arm wrap around her back, bracing her against him; the other stayed at her knee, pulling her stomach and pelvis flush against his own.

She felt more than saw that he turned and began to walk out of the silo. A thrill ran up her back struts as he literally carried her off in plain sight for everyone to see, staking his claim on her. Her fingers dug into the hidden circuitry of his neck as she kissed him in reckless abandon, throwing away the last reserves she could have kept against him. Fingers sidled up the outside of her thigh, sending delightful shivers up and down her protoform in response.

The door to the berth room banged shut a little loudly, but Elita ignored it. While Optimus quickly grabbed her berth and slid it to rest back against his, Elita rubbed the flat of her palm down his chest and down the seductive slide of his waist, appreciating her mate's physique. His shoulders rolled, and the jetpack crashed to the floor. Lip locked and refusing to let go of the intoxicating kiss, the world tipped on its side, and Elita felt her butt hit the connected berths gently, and she was laid with the easiest of grace on her back as Optimus settled himself above her. Instead of his hips, however, it was his chassis that ground against hers in stark desire, trying to pull their sparks closer to each other.

Her glossia stole back into his mouth, curling behind his lip and suckling, and she heard him give a shaky gasp. He pulled against her, rasping, "Wait—Wait—"and his servos that had been ravaging her slowed to a stop, grabbing her hands. A little confused at his sudden stop, Elita waited uneasily as he pressed his helm against hers, dragging in abrading vents. Finally, pressing his face once more to her, he lifted his helm, gazing down into her optics.

"This is not just lust," he husked softly. A stimulating tingle warmed her insides at the heartfelt seriousness. He lifted one of her servos to his chassis, saying, "I love you with all my spark, Elita. And you deserve to be treated as such." He leaned his helm against hers, azure optics consuming her soul. His voice was low and throaty, melting her insides and warming her interfacing panels with his next words.

"I am going to do this RIGHT."

She didn't know what she had gotten herself into. Not when he leaned in close again and his lips touched hers again with such tenderizing devotion that she moaned and almost immediately opened her spark to him. She kept the doors to her spark chamber stubbornly shut, but Optimus treated her with a passion she wasn't sure she was worthy of. He kissed, stroked, and paid attention to every part of her, stimulating her protoform with delightful and agonizing patience as he slowly undressed her.

She tried to return the favor. Primus knew she tried. She let herself touch him in reckless abandon, indulging in the beauty and sexual heat of his protoform, nibbling on his audial fins and nipping at neck cables, but more often than not he was so good at pulling every last drop of salacity from her body that it was all she could do to claw her fingers into his back and bite her lips to hold back her cries. If either of them were too loud, Optimus kissed her, muffling both her and his own sounds with erotic kisses that made her arch into him, bellies flush against each other and dripping with condensation. She tossed her helm, whimpering and panting helplessly as he pleasured her beyond her wildest dreams.

He exposed his spark first. It was crackling, humming with need as his arousal began to press into her, the energies alive and desperate. His thumb would stroke at the catches to her spark chamber, but he never tripped the switch. He waited for her to open up to him with maddening patience, tweaking the wires in her hips, revving his engine so the tremors vibrated all through her body, suckling on her antenna, and hips and chassis grating, GRINDING against her, hungry for the taste of her body.

Her will slowly bent under his heady ministrations. She wanted him more and more, and she was more and more convinced she loved him with every generous touch and squeeze and thrust he gave her, so attuned to her own wants and needs over his own. So when his thumb fondled over the catches to her spark chamber, this time she opened up, body humming with need and spark almost volatile in itself as she surrendered herself willingly to him.

She couldn't conceive the passion he wrought from her body. His touch was tender; his mouth was hot; his vents were ragged, and his desire was patient. Elita shivered when his gentle fingers began to touch her spark, but she could only cry out into his mouth and wrap herself more firmly around him. Every touch sizzled. Every kiss was electrifying static. Every push into her was slow and deep, orgasmic.

When every cable was connected, their life forces hooked into each other and his pleasure bleeding into hers, Elita was lost. She cried out loud, fingers digging into his back, and Optimus moaned back, low and so intense with the approaching overload that his voice cracked. And when that final climax came and their souls finally joined as one again, Elita arched, screaming one name with every ounce of ardor and love she held as her optics snapped open to see him with perfect clarity.

"OPTIMUS!"


	65. Gift of Life

**Author's Note:**

**Hello! :) I wanted to thank my newest fav/follwers riley101z, catpajamas12, ALL OUT TOMBOY, Queen Mariko, and SpinoGuy! Hopefully this continues to be a story worth reading! ;)**

**Much love to you awesome people who always manage to take a few seconds and write down a review, SpinoGuy, Miko873, Eleyond, Grace, Autobot Mech-Ops, Filly92, MajorWanderer, Kuurankukka, Sounddrive, BossBot97, kittycatcalamity, Spiritstrike, The Warrior of Hope, Guest, Katie Gibbs, ZabuzasGirl, neon, couriosity, A Fire Bending Tiger, Autobot Chromia, and Little Kunai! ^-^**

**Also... prepare for... FLUUUUUUUUUUUFF. :D (because we needed some fluff, this was getting too sad)**

* * *

><p>Elita released a soft hum of contentment.<p>

There had to be perks to sleeping naked, she thought. Besides the actual act of being naked, though that was enough in its own right. She shifted positions, feeling the slide of her protoform against Optimus's, and she sighed. Then, her lips pulled into a smile. She slowly caressed her arms upwards to link behind his neck, and the arm holding her on top of his chassis tightened a fraction. A finger nuzzled the curve of her mouth, making the slightest giggle slip from her.

"And to what do I owe a smile like this?"

Before she could answer, her spark had given her away. Optimus chuckled, sending a thrill up her back, and love pooled between their connected sparks. Elita shook her head before reaching her lips up to kiss his jaw.

"I can't believe how stubborn I was."

"Not without good reason," Optimus replied easily. The tips of his fingers brushed past her cheek, behind the curve of her audio receptor and down her neck. Goosebumps raised up on her protoform at the feather-light touch.

Elita gave a soft laugh. She opened her optics to gaze up at his handsome face. "Yeah? Even when I was spitefully holding out because I didn't want to think I'd fallen in love with you?"

His optics shuttered, and he turned his head to the side, nuzzling his lips against her antenna. "I think I can forgive you for that," he murmured softly. "After all," and a small, rueful smile pulled his cheeks, "I came on to you too strong."

She chuckled then. Stretching her ped out, she stroked behind his ankle idly as they lied tangled together. "On the contrary, Optimus Prime . . ." and she pulsed a small wave of desire from her spark to his. They shared another quiet laugh before Elita sighed and curled closer. "Optimus, if anything like this happens again, I don't want you to wait. Just take me again."

There was a pause. Gently, his servo tilted her chin towards himself. Crystal optics probed her. "Now where did that come from?" he wondered out loud.

The smiles died from her face. "Optimus, I—Now that we're connected again, and I'm remembering . . ."She gave a frustrated sigh and curled into him, nestling her helm against the side of his neck. "Optimus, all I can see is how miserable I was without you. And if I had the choice to go back and simply let you take me the very day I had lost my memories, I'd do it."

"I wouldn't." He turned his helm, nuzzling small kisses against her forehead. "I would never take you against your will. In the long run, this was the proper way to do it. Let bygones be bygones. We are together again. Nothing else matters."

Elita gave a resigned sigh. "All right." There was a pause. Then, she frowned. "But if I ever see Shockwave again, I'm going to pop a clip into his face."

Optimus laughed. Elita smiled, feeling the tremors vibrate through her body, and his lips spread broadly. "Well, I'm afraid you'll have to get in line, dear. You're not the only one who wants to give him a . . . Well. A piece of my mind."

Her mouth twitched upwards. "And you know? I think Wheeljack actually had first dibs."

Optimus grunted a not-very-impressed sound. "I still get whatever's left."

"Oh you do?" Elita poked out her lower lip. "I'm quite sure, Optimus Prime, that I could dismantle him quicker."

His optics twinkled a little. Teasingly, he nipped her bottom, pouty lip. "If Wheeljack leaves us anything. After all, he is a Wrecker."

"Touche."

Optimus gave one more deep chuckle before wrapping his arms around her, thumb tracing illicit circles in her back. Elita hummed softly, listening to the quiet ventilations as Optimus' chassis rose up and down with each breath. She also rose and fell with each breath from where she lied atop him.

Idly, in the quiet, Elita turned her helm so she could better look at him, and she brought a hand up, tracing at the jugular of his neck, stroking the curves. Playing innocently with the sophisticated cables in his neck, Elita occupied herself by touching his body. His servos caressed her softly, feather-light touches that were a tease between a massage and a stroke.

Their connected sparks warmed each other. Elita's fingertips followed the contours of his body, sliding along his protoform until her finger traced the edges of his spark chamber. Optimus shivered. Lips twitching, pleased at the response she was given, Elita rubbed teasingly along the opening, but a large hand came up and took hers.

"Elita . . ."

The quiet peace was shattered by his tone of voice. Sighing in resignation, Elita curled up on his chest, murmuring, "Do we have to go back already, Optimus? Can't we have just a little longer?"

He lifted her palm to his face, and he kissed her palm and sighed. "I'm afraid so, Elita. It's already past noon. While we may wish for rest, the Decepticons will never rest."

A heavy vent blasted from her systems, making everything about her deflate. "All right. I suppose we'll have to get dressed." She leaned up, giving him one last kiss before they disconnected sparks. A look crossed Optimus' face, and the leader sat up quickly when Elita pulled away. He grabbed her wrist.

"Elita, wait. What's wrong?"

She gave him a sad smile. "It's nothing, Optimus. We've already been over this conversation once before."

She tried to move off to collect her armor, but her wrist was tugged. She looked back, and Optimus frowned. "Enlighten me, Elita. What's wrong?"

Cocking one brow and shaking her head, Elita sighed. "Sometimes . . . Sometimes I just wish we could have more time together, you know?" She gave a little shrug. "I mean, we ARE spark mates. It's only natural. But I also know you're the Prime. And I'm second in command. We have our duties, Optimus, I know. So don't worry too much about it. I'll be fine. Now come on. I bet Prowl's already swallowed a spark plug because we're late—"

Stopping short when Optimus tugged her close until she plopped in his lap, Elita blinked expectantly at him. For the first moment, he didn't say anything. Instead, he just cupped her cheeks, leaned down, and gave her a deep kiss, causing a brief thrill to tickle her spark. Then, he pulled back and placed his forehead on hers, crystal blue optics staring into hers.

"Elita. Though I may be Prime, I accepted you into my spark long before I became a Prime. And while my duties as Prime are important, you will never, ever play second fiddle. You are my first and last priority. I love you. And if feel this way, we will spend the rest of the day and night together, no one else."

Her spark skipped a beat at that promise. "But—"

"No buts about it, Elita. Unless it's your butt, and then we might negotiate."

She bit the inside of her lip, but the smile was bubbling up anyways. She nuzzled their helms, grinning, and a sassy little, "Well, just as long as I get the booty_ I_ want," slipped out.

He nipped her upper lip. "Well," he rumbled, "if it's any consolation, Elita, even I have troubles putting my Prime duties before everything else."

She arched a brow. "Meaning?

"Meaning, I would really like to punch Prowl right about now."

Elita choked on a laugh and dropped her helm into his shoulder. "Optimus!" She snickered a moment more, feathering her fingers at his neck. "Is he trying to get to you through the comm. link again?"

"Of COURSE he is," Optimus muttered under his breath. For another rare moment in his life, Elita watched at the great Prime gave an optic roll. "How could he not?"

Elita brought her hands back so she could lay them flat on his chassis and prop her chin on them. "He's just worried, Optimus. You know how he is. If we're off schedule in any way . . ."

Optimus gave a heavy sigh. "I know. And I know, the Decepticons never rest . . ." There was a moment where Elita felt her spark sink because the night was already over, and then, she found herself abruptly on her back with a little tiff of mischievousness tickling her spark.

"But I don't WANT to get up."

Elita giggled, biting her lip so she wouldn't squeal when he nibbled at one of her antenna. "Optimus! Please! Quit it!"

His engine revved. "What's wrong, Elita?" he teased her. His broad grin grew, and his optics twinkled. "Are you TICKLISH?"

Elita squealed and shrieked when he attacked her sides with his fingers, and she hit his shoulders, trying to wiggle out from beneath him. "Optimus!" Fighting back, she swindled her hand up to his spark chamber, and she reached in, snagging just the one line to make him stop. And, with a twitch, he did stop his assault and narrowed one optic at her.

"Now Elita. I know you didn't just go there."

With a little twist of the line, Optimus jerked and huffed out a breath at the awkward pain induced. "I. Just. Did." She poked her tongue out. "That's what you get for tickling me."

Optimus gave a deep chuckle, and Elita felt shivers across her protoform. "Oh, is that how it is?" He gave a husky laugh, leaning forward to purr into her audio, "Now, Elita. For all my . . . CONS, if you will, there must be some pros."

Her spark rate took off when he nibbled her neck, pressing adventurous kissing behind her audios. Her servos tightened on him, and she felt a thrill in her body. "O-Oh, I'm certain there are a few things you could do to apologize."

His kisses trailed. Her spark hammered, sending pulsing waves of desire for her spark mate right to him. Those hot lips moved down her throat, over her chassis, and his hand lifted the small of her back so he could press deeper kisses to her stomach. With a frustrated grunt, he lifted his optics back to hers. His thumbs circled slowly. Then, at something unbidden, his brows cinched and he rolled his optics again.

He reached up to his audio. "Prowl," he said tersely, "you are not getting me out of this room until I am ready to come. The Decepticons can wait, and if they can't, I'm absolutely certain that Ultra Magnus is more than capable of leading for a spell. I have . . ." He gave a husky growl as he pressed his face into Elita's belly. "Other more PRESSING matters to attend to."

Elita giggled, grabbing his cheeks and pulling his face back up to hers for a kiss. "Optimus? I LIKE it when you're sassy."

Optimus laughed right back, hooking one of her legs around his hips. "Well, what can I say?" He waggled his brows at her. "I learned from the best."

* * *

><p>Miko groaned. "Wheeljack! It's Saturday! Can't we head back to the base yet?"<p>

Wheeljack grunted. "Well . . . I don't know."

"It's TWELVE, Wheeljack. Surely they'll be done by now! I left my guitar at the base you took off with us all so fast!"

Jack leaned forward from the back seat, resting his arms on Miko's head rest. "You know, Wheeljack, she's right. My house keys are in my backpack which is still at the base."

Raf tried to poke the hologram in the front seat and his finger went through Wheeljack's cheek. "Yeah, and I've GOT to do my homework! Finals are next week!"

Wheeljack sighed as he circled Jasper one more time in his hesitation to go back to base. All night was surely enough to satiate them, right?

Just to be safe, Wheeljack pinged Ratchet. "Hey, Doc? Are we clear?"

There was a very displeased grumble from across the line. "No!" the medic all but barked. "When they get out of there, I'm going to give them the biggest castigation of their lifetimes!"

Unable to help himself, Wheeljack guffawed. "Yeah. You DO that, Ratchet. Anyways, I'll take the kiddos around for a bit longer then. Contact me whenever we've got the all clear; Miko's having a meltdown without her guitar, Jack's locked out of his house, and Raf's processor is in shambles without his homework."

Miko groaned loudly hearing Wheeljack's side of the conversation. She flopped back in her seat and slumped down, muttering, "We are NOT having another sleepover at Darby's house," and she jerked an accusing thumb to Jack. "That is the LAST time I will ever eat organic tofu!"

Jack raised his hands in surrender. "All right! No more organic tofu. But if we really have to, I'm sure I can persuade Mom to get a couple of pizzas."

"Wheeljack!" Miko whined, "I NEED my guitar! Come on, I've got nothing to do!"

"W-Well," Raf stuttered a bit, "then can I use your notes, Miko?"

Miko blinked for one second before she busted into hysterical laughter. "Raf! Oh please, like I ever take notes! Do you even know me?"

Wheeljack grunted as he pulled forward from another red light, turning towards Raf's house. "I think it's a good idea, Babe. You need to be studying."

Miko wrinkled her nose and tossed her head. "Right." She crossed her arms stubbornly. "I'll be fine, like I always am. Last minute cramming and winging it? Pfft, piece of cake! I pass every time!"

Jack kicked the back of her seat, which irritated Wheeljack almost as much as it did Miko. "That's has to be the worst method of studying I've ever heard of, Miko. You don't learn anything like that."

Miko just rolled her eyes. "So? It's not like they actually WANT you to learn. They just want the grade. No one cares if I get an F in history but learn a lot. They would rather me get an A in history and learn nothing!"

"That's not true!" Raf said, frowning and pushing up his glasses. "All your teachers want you to learn!"

She groaned again, seeing that they had pulled into Raf's subdivision. "I don't want to study! It's boring and a waste of time. C'mon, Wheeljack, don't dump me off with him!" Jack reached around and pulled one of her pigtails. "Ow! Jack!"

"I'm going to go with Raf," Jack informed her. "I happen to care about my grades too, you know."

Miko frowned. "Fine. Go then."

Jack's vexing smile faltered. He tugged on her hair again, a lot more gentle this time. "Hey, we're still on for tomorrow, right?"

"Yes," Miko all but snapped at him.

Jack withdrew his hand. "All right, then . . ."

Rearview mirror twitching back to Miko's angry face, his engine gave a little rev as he pulled up to Raf's house. "Tell you what, Babe. If you don't wanna study, then you get to stay with me-but we do what I want."

Her brightening grin faltered as she narrowed her eyes at him, trying to determine what he was pulling with her. Raf and Jack unbuckled, readying to head out as they awaited her answer, Jack a little more anxiously than Raf. Pursing her lips, Miko finally huffed.

"Fine. Just as long as we're not doing anything stupid!"

Wheeljack gave a chuckle. "All right, see ya, kiddos. Hey, Kid, say hey to those five siblings of yours for me!"

"Okay!" Raf said with a smile as he clambered out. "I'll see you later!"

"See you guys," Jack said. As discreetly as he could, he used the back of Miko's chair to ease himself up, brushing a supportive finger against her cheek. "I'll pick you up tomorrow, Miko."

"Bye," she said back, and Jack was forced to duck back out when Miko didn't even look at him.

Watching them with interest, Wheeljack honked his horn once as the boys moved up the drive to Raf's house. Pulling out, Wheeljack decided not to say anything at first, hoping Miko's temper would settle down some before they got to talking again.

Instead, Miko just uncrossed her arms and looked out the window. "So? What are we doing?"

"Give us a little bit," Wheeljack said. "I'll take you there. In the meantime, you want to listen to something?"

She perked up immediately. "Do you EVEN have to ask what I want to listen to!"

Wheeljack paused. "Um . . . Yeah, I kinda do, Babe. Anything with guitar?"

Miko's honey eyes blinked wide, and then, her lips tipped downwards a little bit at the not-so-subtle reminder that Wheeljack still wasn't whole. "My favorite band of all time is Slash Monkey," she said, not sure what to say beyond that.

"Got it," Wheeljack replied. With that, he quickly remembered how much he disliked her taste in music, but she perked up again after a song or two. When Wheeljack took the interstate, Miko looked down the road intently as if she could see where they were going, but Wheeljack didn't shed any light on where they were going.

Then, he swerved off the road.

Miko began to get suspicious at this point, eyes narrowed at his dash while he drove on, but this time around, their ride was a lot smoother. He took several hilly dunes, rocketed over long stretches of undisturbed sand, and made sure to keep the air conditioning blasting since it was hot out. Eventually, he whirled around one last corner before slowly idling to a stop in a dead end that was circled on three sides by steep rock. One side was caved in, a rockslide of rubble.

There was a pregnant pause. "I know this place," Miko finally said.

Wheeljack transformed, picking her up in his palm. He looked out over the rocks. Some of them were still discolored by spilled energon, but sand had covered up the most of it. "Do you?" he said. "I don't remember it, but the Doc supplied the coordinates to me when I asked."

Miko looked up and over her shoulder at him. Her eyes squinted in the sun. "Yeah? So you know what you did here."

He gave an uncomfortable shrug. "Supposedly, this is where I bested Dreadwing."

"Yeah."

There was another stretch of silence. In it, Wheeljack could hear his cooling fans working to regulate his temperature and the faint howl of the breeze through the craggy zone. Finally, he said something.

"Must've been one helluva fight."

Miko flashed a brief grin as she looked out over the ruined arena. "Let's face it, Wheeljack. You were always a Wrecker."

Wheeljack sighed. Picking the wall opposite from the rock slide, Wheeljack sat his aft down, stretched his legs out, and sat Miko down on one of his thighs. "So, Babe. Let's talk for a bit. We haven't done that in a while."

Her little nose wrinkled. "Now?"

"Yeah, now," he repeated. "Let's take today, for example. What's your problem?"

She narrowed her eyes defensively at him. "What's YOUR problem?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "You all but insulted Mrs. Darby's tofu right in front of her face last night, and I KNOW you have a bit more brains than that. You've been edgy all morning long, you're getting angry at everything for merely existing and, well, if I can read you and Jack right, there's gotta be trouble in paradise."

She flushed. Hotly. "Whatever's happening between me and Jack isn't your business, so back off!"

Wheeljack arched a brow as Miko slid off his leg and went storming off. One side of his mouth turned up, and he hitched a knee up comfortably and leaned an arm on it. "Yeah? I think I just hit a nerve."

"Back OFF, Wheeljack."

He raised up his hands. "Fine. Keep your relationship problems to yourself. But can you tell me why you don't want to study? You can't fail high school."

He barely heard her scoff and mutter something sarcastic under her breath. "Miko?"

"It's all your fault anyways . . ."

Frowning, he scooted through the sands a little, trying to hear her moody mumbling. "Miko? Speak up, Babe, I can't-"

"I said it's all your fault!" she shouted back at him. She flushed hotly, but she crossed her arms and turned away from him.

Wheeljack grunted. "All right," he said, turning his full attention on her. "It's my fault. Now, what's my fault?"

Miko's nose wrinkled up more, if that was even possible. She hunched even more into herself. "I'm failing math again," she finally fessed up.

Wheeljack's red optics blinked wide. "What? Babe, you've gotta hit the books if you're failing—"

"I'm failing because of you!" she snapped again, turning to face him with splotchy red cheeks. If not for the sun shining on her face, he wouldn't have seen the faintest glimmer of tears. "You got fragging shot down and all your memories wiped! I've been worried sick! You think I cared about my grades? And especially math! You were tutoring me! And without that, I started failing again like a frigging idiot! So it's all your fault!"

She turned away, giving him the cold shoulder with a stiffened back. Wheeljack frowned, brows cinched at the young human. Scooting so she was within arm's reach, Wheeljack nudged her back.

"That's not all that's bothering you, is it?"

There was a moment in which she didn't respond. Then, she bit out, "If I don't make good grades, I can't keep studying abroad."

Wheeljack nodded his head. "That's not all that's bugging you, is it?" he prodded gently. "You don't want to go back to Japan."

She scoffed loudly then, rolling her head. "Of COURSE I don't want to go back. My dad treats me like trash, since you apparently don't remember." Wheeljack's brows shot up, and then, they cinched, the flame of anger flickered to life. "And Mom is basically a doormat to Dad, so I'm not getting support there either. And I'm not stupid about how low you guys are on energon. It's not like you can keep fueling the ground bridge to come see me."

Wheeljack gave a soft grunt. He fingered the back of her neck, massaging a little. "Anything else?"

He heard her sniff, and she abruptly wiped her nose. "And yes. Fine. There's 'trouble in paradise'. Jack is . . . I . . . Have you ever heard of Miai?"

Wheeljack shook his head. "No. What is it?"

She gave a little shrug. "It's basically arranged marriage." The light bulb clicked for Wheeljack immediately. And she still wouldn't look at him. "Dad's talked about it. Hasn't really decided if he's going to do that, but I bet he'll want to, and I won't be able to do a thing about it. So I don't see the point in dating Jack anymore anyways."

Wheeljack's processor reeled. For a moment, he just leaned back, trying to understand the idea of an arranged marriage. The conception of it just seemed . . . unreal. You couldn't force a spark bond. The two involved with such a sacred ceremony had to be compatible, had to be willing. The idea of such a thing was simply unheard of. The only POSSIBLE way Wheeljack could see a spark bond being forced was, well . . . raped into submission, but even that never happened on Cybertron. Spark bonds were only pursued if the bots in question wanted it.

But humans simply arranged it? As if arranging a meeting? Wheeljack's processor rapidly thought ahead. If this "Miai" was treated anything like how Cybertron's former caste system did, Jack wouldn't be in the correct class as Miko, would he?

Finally, he unlocked his stuck vocalizer. "You can't be forced into a bond, Miko."

She groaned and huffed. "We're not Cybertronians, Wheeljack. We don't bond." She briefly glanced over her shoulder at him. "It's just a little ceremony, a ring, and some official papers. That's what marriage is. So anyone can get married. We don't bond souls, nothing crazy like that."

Pained confusion etched across Wheeljack's face. "But . . . Miko, bonds like that are sacred."

She shrugged. "For some people. Depends on your religion, I guess. We're human, Wheeljack. We're a lot more casual about stuff like this than Cybertronians are."

Wheeljack paused. His optics zeroed in on her hand tugging on her pig tails. Taking a whiff of air to cleanse himself from the nearly sacrilegious way humans handled their life partners. "There's still something bothering you."

She looked away quickly again. Wheeljack waited patiently, but no more information was forthcoming. "Hey, c'mon, Miko," he said. He rubbed the top of her head soothingly. "You've spilled this much, you might as well spill it all."

Miko sucked in a shaky breath, quivering with emotion. "W-Wheeljack . . ." She shivered and closed up tighter into herself. "T-Twist is dying," she broke out on a sob. Wheeljack's finger stilled as the creeping guilt wove its way over his mind again as Miko let it out. "He's dying, and there's nothing I can do to help him! I try, and I try, but nothing seems to be helping. He's just—He's just withering away! I can see it in his optics! Wh-Wheeljack—" She sucked in a tight breath, voice quivering on the edge of tears. "He told me—He told me the other day that he was READY to die!"

That straw broke the camel's back. Miko dissolved into tears, burying her face into her hands and shaking with sobs. Slowly, Wheeljack came to the bitter realization that he had been neglecting her. Intentionally or not, he had let her world fall apart, and he hadn't done a thing to help her. Scooping her up, he cradled her close to his chassis.

"Miko . . ." He sighed again, and he rubbed a hand over his face. "Miko, you've got to understand that some things are different for humans than Cybertronians. I can't promise everything with Twin Twist is going to be all right. Because . . . in all likelihood . . . they're not.

She sucked in a harsh breath, little fingers digging into his chassis. "Listen to me, Miko," he said softly to her. "I need you to understand that . . . if Twin Twist does go out from spark break, it's not a dishonorable end. It's very, VERY common for spark twins to die together. Most—Pit, most can't even do what Twin Twist did and survive the initial snap and keep living. The courage it's taken him to keep going for you is incredible. Be thankful for it."

Heaving a frustrated sound, Wheeljack rubbed his forehead again. "Just . . . If he wants to be with his brother again, who are we to hold him back? If it's what he truly wants . . ." His vocalizer almost broke. He did feel a bit of static glitch his words, so he cleared his throat a little, feeling sicker in the tanks by the minute. "We have to respect his decision."

Miko sniffed, and he heard a muffled, "Dreadwing survived for a long time."

He pinched his brow. How to even explain that? "I don't know what to tell you, Miko," he said softly. "The spark is mysterious. Even our science can't fully understand it. Maybe he was just blinded by revenge. It has . . . a certain control over a bot." An uncomfortable shiver trembled through his wings. "Maybe he wasn't as close to his brother as Twist was. He WAS a Decepticon after all."

It was amazing, the sort of things he could come up with to comfort her. From what Wheeljack knew? Dreadwing had been devoted to his brother. But he couldn't be sure of that now, could he? If the Decepticons really had tampered with his processor, even THAT memory of Dreadwing could be corrupted. Had he really fought in the gladiatorial games with his brother?

He'd never truly know, would he?

Miko had died down to sniffles. Wheeljack gently rubbed her back, and finally, he had to ask, "So . . . Are you planning on breaking it off with Jack?"

She sniffed again, wiping her nose and leaning against his chassis. "I don't know," she mumbled. She curled up, hitching her knees to her chest. "I was going to. But I don't know anymore."

Wheeljack opened his vents, releasing a gust of air. "Then treat the Champ honorably, Babe. Tell him exactly what's going on. See what he wants to do. After all . . ." His olfactory system wrinkled a little as he admitted it. "From what I can tell, you guys really like each other. A lot. And he might not want to take some bogus system like that lying down."

Her cheek twitched with a faint and fleeting smile. "Yeah . . . That'd be the day, wouldn't it?"

Wheeljack gave a small chuckle. "Face it, Babe. Jack's scrawny, but on the inside he's got brass bearings. Now here, there's tissues in the glove compartment." Saying so, he transformed down and plopped her in the front seat. A little more aware now that she was sweating some in the heat, he flipped the air conditioning back on.

Waiting a little anxiously on his tire treads as she blew her nose, he cleared his throat. "So . . . How about some lunch? You hungry? We can get you something to eat, have a picnic, and go smash some dunes or something."

Miko didn't answer for a minute, but pulled more tissues out, dabbing at her eyes and blowing her nose again before she tentatively responded. "Well . . . Maybe we could . . ." She wrung the tissue in her lap. "Maybe you could tutor me again? I mean, if I want to come back, I have to pass . . . And I WANT to come back."

Wheeljack paused, and then he gave a warm chuckle. "Yeah. I can do that, Babe. Your house?"

She nodded. "Yeah. But let's stop by KO Burger, I'm pretty hungry!"

* * *

><p>They were back at the base again by that afternoon, actually. Miko pounced on her guitar like a starving lion and Jack found his keys and Raf was relieved to get his homework. Ultra Magnus was a bit irritated, Ratchet was in a tiff, and Prowl was just foul.<p>

Turns out, Optimus and Elita left. They just left. Elita had shouted something about a road trip, and then they were gone. Without so much as a warning. Ratchet was happy for them, but he thought stuffing away all their responsibilities was childish, and he kept muttering about, "Those blasted new sparks, just as bad as they were last time!" and other such nonsense. So Wheeljack avoided Ratchet because he was still wary of the medic when he was in a bad mood, and Ultra Magnus was cracking down pretty hard; probably some sort of penance for Optimus leaving that he made the others suffer. The kids had to be left at home since their guardians were otherwise engaged with duties and mundane tasks.

The pair of lovers were gone all day. All night. They didn't show up until the next day, and that Saturday was dealt with Ratchet hot under the collar and giving the two a thorough castigation that Ultra Magnus was absolutely sure that neither heard. Elita kept giggling through it, and even Optimus was snickering. It boded well for their relationship, but everyone was secretly relieved to have the commanders back to keep everyone in line.

Several days passed in which nothing eventful happened. Elita plead Optimus had exhausted her on their brief honeymoon and lazed around as much as she possibly could. She almost drank an unhealthy amount of energon, claiming her reserves were always empty and constantly refueling. Ratchet snapped at her once and of all things, make her start to cry, and when Optimus intervened, she claimed she was just tired and moody. She talked a lot with her human friends at the base, and the likes of D.O.A. and Timber and Boobie were thrilled to see her again. And the Decepticons were quiet.

Twin Twist was sleeping in Wheeljack's berth. He'd wake up to find the Wrecker sprawled over his back or tucked under his arm. Being a very tactile mech, he was even more clingy without Topspin. He cuddled with Bumblebee, he snuggled with Smokescreen, he'd curl up next to Arcee, and he'd sit at the Prime's peds, lean against him, and fall asleep that way. He became a little more empty by the day. More exhausted, more depressed, and more dragged down, but he endured.

On the plus side, at the first sign of Decepticons they were able to catch in action, Optimus Prime shot down Soundwave. It was a good break. At least, what they thought was a good break. It ended in near disaster. Soundwave attacked them with sound waves, deleted his own drives so they couldn't interrogate him, and thus they only had a bargaining chip for Megatron now. Which, in itself, was a plus.

But, a unique argument happened when the Decepticons were attacking at the South Pole, looking for a particle generator. It was more like a spat, but it had everyone riveted.

"You can't honestly be kidding me, Optimus."

He frowned at her. "I'm very serious, Elita."

"I'm perfectly fine!" she said back, throwing up a servo. "Look at me! I'm in top shape, so I don't know what's wrong."

"I don't know what's wrong either, Elita, and that's why I want Ratchet to check your health."

"And I'm telling you, Optimus Prime, that I am perfectly fine!"

"You're drawing far too much energon, Elita," Optimus said patiently. "You said it yourself. You're taking in almost as much as Ultra Magnus is. And you're tired all the time."

Before she could stop it, she grinned, waggling her brows. "Oh, I think we know what I'M tired from . . ." When it failed to bring a laugh, she frowned sharply again and planted her servos on her hips. "Optimus, you can't make me stay here for a checkup."

"On the contrary, Elita. I most certainly can."

She groaned and shook her head. "No. You will NOT hide behind your rank right now, OPTIMUS PRIME, I can and will go on this run with all of you. I am perfectly functional, and a check up can wait until after the battle."

When she tried to brush past him, a firm, restricting servo grabbed her shoulder. "No, Elita," he said sternly, "you may not go into battle. If this is a real problem, I do not want you risking yourself."

She gave a huge roll of her optics. "It's probably just my energon transfusion capacitor, I haven't had it changed in vorns. It's probably just old and dirty and not processing the energon correctly."

"Elita."

They stared each other down, each testing the will of the other. Finally, Elita huffed. "Fine. Have it your way. I'll stay."

Optimus smiled immediately. He stooped to place a kiss on her cheek. "That's my girl. Be good. We'll be back as soon as we can. Autobots! Roll out!"

Elita huffed slightly under her breath and watched as Optimus rode out, even Ultra Magnus in tow this time as he had apparently done enough therapy for his new hand. She got to miss out on the action because of, in human terms, she had "the sniffles" or an ailment so petty it might have well been sniffles.

The ground bridge closed. Smokescreen and Prowl, ordered to keep an optic on their captive (or in Prowl's case . . . just to stay), and shifted his peds uncertainly. Ratchet pointed to his berth. "All right, Elita. You heard Optimus."

She wrinkled her face up. "Ratchet, really. I'm fine! Can't I persuade you to let me out of this?"

The medic shook his helm. "I am under the strictest of orders, Elita. Berth. Now."

Huffing and walking over, peds clicking sharply in the quiet base, Elita rolled her optics, crossed her arms, and plopped her aft down on Ratchet's medical berth. "Primus, make one little utterance about drawing more energon than usual, and Optimus is all in a twist . . ."

"What was that, Elita?"

Elita rolled her optics again at Ratchet's sharp, knowing tone. "I said I'm perfectly functional and Optimus had no real reason to confine me to the base until after this check up. He's wasting my time, your time, and I should be out there helping them!"

Smokescreen waved from across the base. "Hey, at least you weren't assigned to watch Creepy here! Can't we throw a tarp over him? He's freaking me out!"

Elita's lips twisted up at the sight of Smokescreen dodging around in front of the completely shut down Soundwave. Prowl frowned, and he didn't even try to look in the direction of where Smokescreen was. "Stop your complaining, Smokescreen. He is nothing to fear while incapacitated."

A scan washed over her, and Elita felt her lips twist wryly as Smokescreen sighed at Prowl's small castigation. She hoped Ratchet could finish his visor soon. It sat to the side, for the most part finished, but apparently there was still wiring Ratchet was picking over, and installing it was going to be a different boat. Elita winced when Ratchet shined a light in her optics.

"Follow the light."

"I can see just fine, Ratchet!" she huffed, sulkily and spitefully watching the light as he checked how responsive her optics were. He glanced at the computer in his arm, muttering, "Energy efficiency is perfectly fine. You can't have a leak in your tanks or you would have noticed . . ." Ratchet gave a perturbed hum and scrounged through his medical supplies, returning with—

"Oh please don't tell me that's what I think it is."

Ratchet hiked a brow when she spitefully shut her jaw tightly, and he gave her a lazy look. "Yes, it is," he said, waving the stick with the swab at the end of it. "Now open up. Or do I have to get Optimus to pull rank on you?"

Elita wrinkled her nose more. "He can't pull rank on ME . . ." she muttered before, with a grimace, she opened her mouth.

Ratchet released a huffing vent, something akin to a muffled laugh as he grasped Elita's jaw and opened her mouth wide enough for him to see clearly. Despite her audible complaints, he stuck the swab down her throat a little, wiping inside and pulling out to find barely a trace of energon left on the swab.

"Well, your systems are clean. No energon clotting."

Elita snorted and looked away, an uncomfortable tickle in the back of her throat. "That's nice to know, Ratchet."

"Quit your complaining, or I'll make this REALLY uncomfortable."

With one last, petulant vent, Elita shut her mouth, but she still gave him irritated looks as he performed a clean sweep of her systems. He checked everything down to the nanite, the wire, the processing chip, her past schedule in comparison to the drain of energon she had been experiencing lately.

How was she feeling? Fine, just annoyed.

Good. Optimus says you've been tired lately. Is that true? Yes, what did it matter?

Just answer the questions. You've been drawing more energon and taking in more energon? Yes, so what if she was hungry. Maybe she was going through a growth spurt.

Cybertronians don't go through growth spurts at your age. Maybe her boobs were growing. NO Elita.

"Look. Ratchet. I'm FINE. For the hundredth time, I am perfectly functional! Now let me go!"

Elita was extremely close to walking away from Ratchet. She had been poked and prodded enough for one day, thank-you-very-much. Ratchet snapped a finger and automatically pointed at the berth. "Don't you move yet. Is your spark reading any unusual anomalies?"

"NO, Ratchet."

He gave a perturbed grunt, turned, and said, "All right, open up."

"I am NOT opening my spark to you—"

"I've seen it plenty enough times before, Elita, now stop being a pain, or you won't like how I proceed with this check up."

Groaning in defeat, Elita opened her spark chamber doors for the doctor. Ratchet immediately and instinctively ran a scan, and he briefly glanced at the findings—and expecting nothing out of the usual—bent to get a better look at her spark. Then, he froze, looking back to the readings, and his optics opened wide.

Elita narrowed her optics. "What? Ratchet, what is it?" Was she falling apart from the inside out?

"I apologize," he said as he turned his helm at an odd angle, "I'm going to touch your spark and move it briefly, so don't squirm."

"Great," Elita muttered under her breath. Ratchet reached gingerly inside, careful with his larger servos, and Elita twitched when she felt his hand gently cup her spark and push. She tried not to squirm at the unusual feel of her organ getting moved slightly, but the spark was made that way so if they impacted too hard, it helped keep trauma from effecting them. Ratchet's optics widened a little more, and then, a soft smile began to play at his lips.

"Ratchet? What's going on."

He gave a soft chuckle, and he released her spark, withdrawing his hands. He straightened. "Elita, you are carrying."

"Carrying what?" she asked, immediately running internal diagnostics again. If she was carrying a virus, she had to know where it came from . . .

Instead, Ratchet grasped her shoulders, gathering her undivided attention. "Elita, you are CARRYING." That smile twitching the edges of his lips broadened a little. "Elita, you're sparked."

Elita blinked. "I . . . I'm . . . What?" She looked down immediately into her spark chamber, trying to see if there was another small spark nestled in there with hers, but from the angle she was at, she couldn't see. "I thought I'd feel it? Don't femmes know when they're sparked?"

"It's hidden behind your spark," Ratchet told her, explaining why he had to move her spark to see. "We caught the carrying early, so the new spark hasn't had the chance to connect and bond with you yet. I'd give it a few more Earth solar cycles and you'll be fully connected. By then, it might situate itself closer to the front where it has more room to grow."

"I-I'm sparked?" Elita asked again. She looked up, almost daring Ratchet to tease her again, but he beckoned her.

"Here. Look." Carefully reaching in her spark chamber again, Ratchet moved her spark out of the way again, and with a gentle finger, coaxed a small, tiny ball of light forward.

Elita's breath caught. She almost knocked her helm with Ratchet's she looked so suddenly, but wonder caught in her in takes as she lifted her servos to hover just around her spark chamber.

"I . . . I'm . . . CARRYING . . ."

Ratchet politely removed his servos from her spark chamber again, and Elita caught his hands, biting her lip with excitement, a glow overtaking her. "Ratchet, I—I'm sparked! Oh Ratchet, I'm carrying, I'm CARRYING . . . ! Ratchet, Ratchet, this is wonderful!"

With an elated laugh, Elita looked back into her spark chamber, using her hand to move her spark so she could see the shining little orb that was draining extra energon and power from her systems. "Look at you. Oh you're beautiful. Beautiful and strong, just like your father." With a little gasp, Elita looked back up to Ratchet. "Is he a boy or a girl?"

The crotchety medic smiled, a twinkle of warmth touching his optics. "It's too soon to know. In fact, the mother tends to know before the doctor."

Elita just managed to contain a squeal of delight, and she ducked her head, looking at the beginnings of her child forming. "Regardless of if you're a boy or a girl, you're going to be strong and beautiful. And you'll have all the compassion and sweetness of your father, but all the spirit and smarts of your mother. Remember that. I'm the brains half of this relationship." A smile split her cheeks apart as the full implications of this hit her. She gave a little gasp, looking back up. "Ratchet! Oh Ratchet, what'll we call him? Or her! They'll have to have a strong name . . ."

Ratchet held up his servos in surrender. "I'm afraid I wouldn't have that knowledge, Elita," he said on a chuckle. "You'll have to talk with Optimus about it."

"Oh sparked—SPARKED! Ratchet!" With a delighted laugh and squeal, Elita jumped up, hugging the medic tightly, much to the amusement of the latter. "Oh, Optimus won't know what to do!"

"Wait, Elita? You're sparked?"

Hearing Smokescreen's bewildered voice suddenly made her realize how loud she was being, but she hurriedly released Ratchet, saying, "Shh! Shh, Smokescreen! Oh don't tell anyone, don't either of you tell anyone! I want to surprise Optimus!" She grinned, a flush touching her cheeks. "He isn't going to know what to do!"

Prowl seemed a little struck. She watched his damaged optics widen, and then, he nodded his helm in her general direction, saying, "Congratulations, Elita."

Smokescreen flushed bright red and whirled away, almost running right into Soundwave. "Ahem," Smokescreen cleared his throat, "Ma'am, you're flashing us."

Belatedly realizing her spark chamber doors were wide open, Elita closed them quickly with a laugh, too excited to truly care. "Sparked. I'm sparked! Ratchet, I can't believe I'm carrying!" With another squeal, she threw herself into the medic's arms, so delighted she almost couldn't see straight. "Imagine! If the war ends soon-the first new spark of a new Cybertron! The first sparkling born into peace in ages!" Then, her optics grew huge with a gasp. "UNCLE MAGNUS. Oh, Magnus is going to be an uncle!" Then, with a Cheshire grin, she turned to Ratchet and waggled her brows. "GRANDPA Ratchet?"

Ratchet blinked widely, then, he tried to harrumph and crossed his arms. "I'm not THAT old . . ."

Elita giggled and quickly smooched him on his cheek. "Sparked! I'm sparked, I'm going to be a mother . . ." She did a little jig in place, wiggling with happiness. "I'm going to be a mother! Oh Ratchet, what do you think he'll call me? Mother? Carrier? Or maybe he'll use one of the human's terms, like Mama? Oh that would be so cute! Or Mommy, oh it would be so cute . . ."

"Hey!" Smokescreen bounded over with a grin. "Does this make me god-father? I've gotta be the god-father!"

Elita burst into laughter, actually having to wipe tears of happiness from her optics. "Oh, I don't know, Smokescreen! I was hoping—"

"What's going on in here?"

Elita whirled hearing Agent Fowler's voice. "Agent Fowler! Oh you won't guess the good news! I'm—"

A loud shatter of glass interrupted her sentence, and Elita whipped around, blinking as she saw the sharp angles of Laserbeak whirring in the room. For a second, it didn't register because she was so wrapped up around her sparkling, and then, when he open fired on them, Elita yelped at the speed of which Ratchet had grabbed her and forced her to duck and cover.

She pushed at him. "Ratchet, let go!" Whipping out her gun, Elita took aim, and she shot at the quick-dodging deployer, and she was pleasantly surprised when it was Smokescreen's shot that nicked the bird and chipped a piece off. But all that was for naught. Elita swore under her breath when Laserbeak latched onto Soundwave's chassis. Immediately, Soundwave's systems were rebooting.

"Fragging tinfoil turkey!"

Elita leapt over the side of the berth, causing Ratchet to shout at her and grab at her, but she had to get the drop on the communication's officer before he could come back online. Drawing her sword, Elita leapt up with a cry, ready to drive it through the mech's spark when the visor flicked on.

_Oh scrap._

For such a scrawny arm, he packed a punch. Elita felt the force of his fingers drive into her stomach, sending her off to the side with a heavy crash. Grunting, she blinked wildly past the static in her optics to see a blinding retreating Prowl felled by a tentacle shocking him into submission. Ratchet was still shouting at her, moving her way, and Smokescreen was knocked out just as quickly. Hauling aft, Elita grabbed her energon rapier and charged him.

Soundwave turned quick as lightning, smooth as quicksilver. Elita ducked beneath the first tentacle, closing in on the mech with a curled lip, determined to make sure he was pushing up lugnuts. Slashing quickly, she nicked his shoulder and drew some energon, but that was before an arm crashed at her chin, snapping her articulators together. A solid force clamped down on her chassis, slamming her into the floor, and Elita cried out when electricity surged through her chassis, overloading every circuit in her body until she blacked out.

* * *

><p>Well. That wasn't the best sight to be seeing.<p>

Wheeljack watched, lips pressed grimly as the Decepticons made off with another part to whatever they were building, Predaking's strong wings saving both the item and Shockwave's butt. He swore colorfully as they disappeared into the ground bridge. All that, and they still got it, just because of some damn overgrown lizard! Frustrated, Wheeljack followed the Autobots back out to Optimus, the single set of red optics among blue.

The Prime had taken a pretty good beating. His optics swept the group, and it was unsaid what they knew had happened, but the Prime took Bumblebee's shoulder, giving him a silent chin-up motion to bolster his courage again. Arcee touched her audio.

"Ratchet, we require immediate transport back to base."

Wheeljack waited impatiently. His energon was still running hot. He bounced in place, agitated that he couldn't do more and frustrated with every lot he had been cast in life. Where was the damn bridge? The Doc would be taking a nap at this time, old bot he was . . .

"Ratchet, do you read?"

Finally, over their open comm. channel, Wheeljack heard the response. It was Prowl. "Arcee?" he asked, voice glitching with static.

"Prowl? Is everything all right?" Arcee asked. "Where's Ratchet?"

The pause was long. Wheeljack frowned more. This was not headed . . .

"Ratchet is gone."

Wheeljack stiffened. Hot anger piqued. "What do you mean he's gone?" he snapped at Prowl, as if it was his fault, and hating his grim, matter-of-fact tone.

"What I said," the Elite Guard member stated flatly back. "He's gone. Soundwave is missing as well. I presume he abducted him."

"No, he can't be gone! Prowl, if you let him take him, I'll strip your paint myself! He's not gone! He's not—You can't even fragging see! You're blind! Where's Smokescreen?"

"Right here," he piped up immediately. "And I can confirm, as I told Prowl, that both Ratchet and Soundwave are gone."

"And Elita?"

"Fine, Prime," Prowl said immediately. "Soundwave only made off with Ratchet—"

"Frag about Elita!" Wheeljack snapped at Optimus, fire raging hot behind his expression. "He took Ratchet!" Dread suffused in the back of his throat. "He's gone, Prime!"

Optimus turned his gaze onto Wheeljack. "Wheeljack, I know. Calm down-"

"You calm down!" Wheeljack snapped, slashing a hand at him and voice almost cracking in panic. "He's gone, Prime! He's gone! He was my one chance at getting better! He's the only one who could have fixed me, and he's gone! I NEEDED him, Prime!"

Silence blanketed them. Wheeljack tried to control his seizing vents, tried to control his hyperventilating, but he was gone. Regardless of if he didn't like the medic all that much, he was the only one that could put his Neurocaroxic line back in. He was the only one that could perform the surgery on his processor and fix him, to whatever he was. Without Ratchet . . . he didn't ever have the chance to be whole again.

And now . . . Now that he didn't have him, he realized just what he was missing.

He wanted to be fixed.

Optimus put a hand on his shoulder. Wheeljack jolted, but he didn't bolt as the Prime looked down on him. "Calm yourself, Wheeljack. We will find him and bring him back. Smokescreen, bridge us back."

Feeling a bit awkward at the attention, Wheeljack rolled his shoulder, knocking the Prime's servo off as the ground bridge blasted open. Optimus didn't mind. He knew the mech was distraught, and he wasn't going to push his buttons. Instead, walking through the ground bridge, he came back to base to see Prowl standing off to the side, Elita sitting on the medical berth, and . . . her SPARK CHAMBER was open to Smokescreen?

Smokescreen looked up guiltily, and Elita straightened and her chamber closed immediately. Optimus frowned.

"What's happened?" When no answer was forthcoming, Optimus headed their way, and Smokescreen immediately shrank back. "Elita? Are you all right? What's wrong?"

She took a breath, trying to conceal what it was in her spark when he went fishing for the answer. "It's nothing, Optimus. Soundwave just attacked, remember?"

He cocked a brow at her. "Your spark chamber was open."

When he kept trying to find the answer in her spark, she frowned, saying sharply, "Must you disrespect my privacy when I wish to keep something to myself?"

He immediately stopped, but he frowned more. "What is going on."

"I-It's nothing, really," Smokescreen tried to put in helpfully. "Soundwave's creepy feeler tentacle things shocked us all and he got Elita right in the chassis so we just wanted to make sure she was all right and there was nothing really wrong with her since she IS your spark mate and our commander so we just thought we were doing what needed doing."

It took all of Elita's strength not to drop her face in her palms. Good cover, but he stammered it all out in one breath and painted himself as more guilty than before. Optimus' brows cinched just slightly, and his optics narrowed slightly. Elita inwardly cringed when that look crossed his features. He wasn't going to let this one go.

"I expect you all to be truthful with me," he said seriously, Autobots congregating around nervously. "Now. What. Happened. Elita, are you hurt?"

"No!" she said quickly. "I'm not!"

"Then why are you keeping secrets?"

Elita jolted to her peds. "I'm not lying," she nearly snapped, hurt that he would insinuate it.

"Optimus Prime," Prowl cut in respectfully, "we just lost Ratchet to the enemy. I think that's reason enough we're all so defensive right now."

He looked at Elita again, judging her. "The check up. Something IS wrong, and you're not telling me."

Her face wrinkled slightly. He WOULD be fragging good enough to simply read her face! "Optimus," she said seriously, "I promise, NOTHING is wrong with me."

"Elita, tell me the truth."

"I am!" She rubbed her face. "Look . . . I'm fine and healthy, but I'd rather keep to myself what Ratchet's tests revealed. There'll be time for that later, a better time, just not right now."

She watched his lips press and his face pinch as he listened, trying and failing to let her keep her space. After a moment, it was Ultra Magnus that came forward, saying, "Elita, if it's something detrimental to your health, we need to know. Just go ahead and give us every problem on the plate now, and we'll deal with them one by one."

She frowned at him. "It's not a problem, Magnus!"

Optimus gave a huffing vent. "Elita, if it isn't a problem, and there is nothing wrong . . . what is it?"

"I—" She bit her lip, and looking at him, she warred inwardly for when would be the right time to tell him, but then her lips betrayed her, blurting out, "Optimus, I'm sparked!"

His optics popped. And they stayed open. Ultra Magnus, however, took it right in stride and didn't miss a beat.

"Elita, you're sparked? Out of all the—Elita, you fought against Soundwave while you were SPARKED?"

Her gaze jumped between the glowering uncle and the soon-to-be father who was still gaping at her. "Well of course I did!" she snapped. "What was I supposed to do? Lay down and—"

"You are CARRYING, Elita!" Ultra Magnus exploded. "This isn't just about your safety anymore, it's about the child you are carrying! When you go into battle, you take that sparkling out into battle with you! The danger—"

"I know it was dangerous, Magnus, but I had to defend myself!"

"Hardly! I know you, Elita, and you'd go charging into battle fully knowing you were putting your child in danger!"

He threw the match, igniting the flame in one second. Furious anger flushed into her cheeks. "Are you insinuating that I would put MY CHILD in danger—!"

Optimus finally cracked open his vocalizer. "E-Elita," he stammered, "you're . . . sparked?"

Elita looked back, anger gone as quickly as it had come. He stared blankly, optics huge and whirring as he gaped down at her. She nodded. "Yes. I'm—Ratchet said—I'm sparked. I'm carrying."

He reared back a little bit, blinking quickly as the information smacked him in the face. Bumblebee was on his toes behind the others, as if trying to see the sparkling from where he stood, like she had already had it. Ultra Magnus made a gruff sound, rubbed his face, and glared back at Elita.

"Well, are you okay?"

She narrowed her optics back at Ultra Magnus. "Yes, we're FINE. Thank you for your concern! I told you it wasn't a big deal. It was just a little shock in the chassis, it barely did a—"

"He SHOCKED your chassis while you are CARRYING?"

Elita threw up her servos. "By Primus, Magnus, if you don't make the best Ratchet impression I've ever SEEN!"

Servos grabbed her shoulders. Elita found herself looking into Optimus's wide azure optics again, and he shook her gently. "Elita . . ." He wet his lips. "Elita, you're . . . sparked? W-With OUR child?"

Not knowing what else to do, she nodded.

Slowly, his lips began to pull. He gave a bewildered laugh. "Sparked." His optics dropped to her chassis and back up to her face, and he gave another little laugh of wonder, servos stealing up to cup her cheeks. "Sparked! Elita, you're carrying?"

She laughed at the slow realization, wondering if she had looked just as cute and silly when she found out. "Yes, I'm carrying! And if that doesn't make it clear enough for you, you're going to be a FATHER!"

Optimus gave a big, warm laugh. He scooped her up into his arms, and she squealed as he gave her the biggest bear hug, twirling her slightly. "Elita! Carrying! You're sparked!" With another delighted laugh that absolutely floored the rest of the Autobots, seeing him so carefree, he dipped her down and planted a kiss smack on her lip, laughed again, and hugged her tightly. "Elita, we're going to have a child. Oh, we're going to be creators!"

"We ARE creators!" Elita laughed, and she nuzzled his helm, kissing him again. "He's already forming, right behind my spark."

Optimus's attention snapped to her fully. "He?"

Elita blushed, biting her lip. "Well, I'm not sure yet. He hasn't connected with me yet, so I don't know if he's a he or a she."

"It doesn't matter," Optimus said, kissing her once more before sitting her down. "They will be perfect either way."

Elita gasped, optics rounding as she grabbed his hand. "Optimus, do you want to see him?"

For the first time, his smile faltered. Optimus finally came down off cloud nine, and he registered the Autobots in the room and remembered everything that had happened. Before he could decline, Ultra Magnus stepped forward.

"Stay with her, Optimus," he said with a nod. "We can take care of combing the area for clues as to what happened here."

Optimus hesitated for a second, and then, he nodded. "Thank you—"

"No," Prowl said quickly. "Ultra Magnus, sir, you should stay too. We have more than enough to perform the sweep. The sparkling IS going to be your niece or nephew after all. Take some time off. We can handle things."

Before either of them could refuse, Elita grabbed their servos. "Come on! Thank you, Prowl!"

Pulling them along with a near skip, Elita grinned as she planted them down on the berth. With a small giggle, Elita squeezed herself between them, smiling from ear to ear. "He's so cute," she said, trying not to kick her peds like a child. Opening up her spark chamber, she reached in and cupped her spark gently, moving it to the side some for a clearer look. Then, she turned to Optimus and pointed. "Look. There he is."

Optimus ducked his helm down, and she watched as his features softened. A tiny smile played at the edges of his mouth as he looked at the tiny little spark nestled behind Elita's. Carefully, he reached inside, and his finger ever so gently nuzzled the little orb. It brightened upon contact, revealing a healthy sparkling, and Optimus gave a soft, deep laugh.

"She's beautiful, Elita."

Elita bit her lip, blushing in pride, and Optimus looked up to his patiently waiting brother. "Magnus, look."

Allowing Elita to turn, Elita hiked up her chin, absolutely shining with pride already as Ultra Magnus dipped his helm to look. In a rare moment in his life, his face cracked from the hard, frowning mask he always wore. Elita watched in delight as his lips twitched, and then even he couldn't resist a small smile at the gift of life she held in her chassis.

"You have a fine sparkling, Elita. You both will make fantastic parents."

Optimus turned her back to him, excited to look back into her chassis and see his child. Optimus chuckled as he reached back inside, carefully brushing the tiny spark, and it lighted up again, pleased with the contact. Optimus briefly looked up to Elita, optics shining.

"What should we call her?"

She gave a laugh, shaking her head. "Well, we'll need a boy and a girl's name until we know which. Ratchet said I should be connected to him in a few days time. And he'll move over so he won't be hidden behind my spark so much. Did you have any name ideas?"

Ultra Magnus quietly slipped away. Optimus and Elita didn't even notice. "I haven't the faintest idea," Optimus admitted quietly on a laugh. His optics twinkled as he gently stroked the waxy surface of the tiny spark, causing the lights to dance. The spark's energies snapped a little, trying to reach out. The creases of his mouth twitched upwards. "She's going to be beautiful. Just like her mother."

Elita blushed. She reached up, playing with his audio receptors. "Yeah? I was kinda hoping for a boy. A good strong mech."

Optimus chuckled, and his optics flicked up to her face. "Is that so? Well, I happen to know my child when I see her, and she is most definitely is a she."

She grinned. "Oh yeah? Well, I wouldn't underestimate a mother's intuition, Optimus Prime, and I can promise you it's a bouncing baby boy."

He chuckled again, and Elita smiled when he nuzzled the edge of her spark chamber, sending tickles up through her. "We'll just see," he murmured. He gave a soft sigh, finger tickling the tiny spark.

Hearing the wistfulness in his voice, Elita nudged behind his helm. "Optimus?"

He shook his head. "You wouldn't like who I'm thinking about right now."

Her lips twitched sadly. "Of all mechs, Optimus. For shame. Ratchet would be infuriated that he took priority over him."

Optimus sighed. "He was my brother in all but spark . . . It's times like these I wish this rift between us never happened. This war never happened. She needs to be able to grow up in a land of peace, Elita. Not war."

Elita sighed softly. Taking his audio receptors, she turned his helm up to her, and she leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "The war will be over soon, Optimus," she said softly. "We'll have peace before she's born. I'm sure of it."

"And . . . Megatron?"

Elita smiled the tiniest. "Well," she whispered, "wasn't it you that believed every sentient being had the capacity for change?"

"I'm not sure what to believe anymore, Elita," he murmured. He closed his optics and leaned forward, pressing his helm into her neck. "Some days, I'm certain I could end the war. And others . . . I'm just not sure if I have it in me to . . . with these hands . . . take the life of a mech I called my brother."

Elita stroked behind his helm gently, trying to soothe away the pain. She vented, holding her aching spark mate close. "Optimus . . . Regardless of what happens, or how this war plays out, I'll always be there for you. When you find your spark weak, downtrodden . . . Think of me. Think of your soon to be born sparkling." A long smile touched her lips, and her optics misted. "If you need something to believe in," she murmured, "he's right here."

Optimus looked up. Haggard optics softened, and he leaned towards her, pressing a soft, deep kiss on her lips. They parted briefly, and his mouth seared a loving trail up to her audio receptor. His breath tickled.

"She."

Elita giggled before she could stop it. Laughing softly with him, they leaned their helms against each other, stealing kissing and playfully arguing about gender as they began to suggest names. Optimus wrapped his arms around her, and he wrapped his arms around his sparkling, ready to protect them as he always would be.

The happy couple was oblivious in their little corner of the world to any other activity in the base.


	66. Changes

**Author's Note:**

**GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM THE DEAD?**

**Haha, but in all seriousness, I hope I can continue my regularly scheduled updating of this story. I apologize for the long wait, but college and life slammed really hard. After cobbling this together for a couple months, I do believe I am satisfied with how the chapter turned out, and hopefully I'll stay back in the swing of my writing and writer's block won't trouble me anymore! :)**

**Now. Much love to my newest favs/followers lightninghawk101, Ratchet171, Rexorz, Shira2000, Domonation, tonyfoni, Bloodrayne666, FoxAircurrent, tfandanimefan, sideslilsquishy24, Britaniah, Top Kicker, Firestorm152, Crye 4 Me, Death Doll Hot Line, MasterAssassin-NullShadow, Backbeat the Wrecker, and .7982! I swear I update much more regularly than I have!**

**Oodles of love to my reviewers ZabuzasGirl, Fanatic97, Little Kunai, SpinoGuy Productions, Spiritstrike, courosity, Neon, enmused, Sounddrive, Starlight Prime, Katie Gibbs, Kuurankukka, A Fire Bending Tiger, Autobot Chromia, Autobot Mech-Ops, Foxbear, MajorWanderer, Dragonstormgirl, Mercedes Wolfcry, megaghostgirl101, strikehead1454, Grace, Miko873, tonifoni, and .7982! **

* * *

><p>"Hey, catch."<p>

Wheeljack watched with a wrinkled olfactory system when Prowl's servos leapt up defensively instead of opening up. The fake diamond clacked against his arm and clattered on the floor. Wheeljack rolled his optics and sighed, alternately irritated and sympathetic.

Prowl hiked up his chin. "You know I am incapable of seeing anything, Wheeljack. Must you pester me as well?"

The warrior grunted and stooped over to pluck the visor from the floor. "Quit being so defensive. I might harass you, but I'm not malicious. Now hold still."

His brows creased immediately. "What? What are you doing?"

"Just don't move." He moved the visor near the tactician's face, but when Prowl sensed his touch coming close, he instinctively brought his face back. Wheeljack huffed. "Fraggit, Prowl, just hold still."

Flickering optics narrowed in his general direction. "Wheeljack—"

"Just be grateful, you stuck up oaf."

Before Prowl could move again, Wheeljack quickly shoved the visor into place with a satisfying click. Prowl reeled back from the force at which he shoved the visor on his face, and he threw a hand behind him so he wouldn't fall flat on his back. For a second, his optics shuttered, whirring as they adjusted to the look of the smug smirk on Wheeljack's face. His door wings twitched upwards in surprise.

"But . . . I thought Ratchet hadn't finished . . ."

"He didn't," Wheeljack said candidly. He gave a shrug. "I finished it as well as I could. I'm sure you've noticed already, but some of your vision's still effected since we're dealing with half-par repairs. Purples, reds, and blues are out of the question. Should be interesting seeing Prime without his colors . . ." Wheeljack waved a hand. "Regardless. Your range of vision is still limited. I wouldn't calculate a missile over several hundred feet of distance unless you're wanting to shoot the wrong bot. And thing's might seem a little 2D at the wrong angle, but I think you get the picture. How you doing, Prowler? You haven't said a word."

Finally, his words snapped the tactician out of his stupor. He frowned. "Wheeljack, you know my name is not—"

"Sure thing, Tight Aft." Wheeljack grinned when heat suffused into his cheeks. "It's not the best job, Ratchet might be able to ticker with it more when he gets back; you know, see if he can extend your sight a little more, but I'm afraid if I touched it anymore than I did we'd have an unfortunate accident."

His door wings twitched again in mild annoyance. "You are notorious for such ACCIDENTS," he said flatly.

Wheeljack grinned. "C'mon, Prowler. Fess it up."

Prowl stood, his air of confidence back as he snatched up his datapad. "Excuse me?"

That rakish grin grew. Wheeljack waggled his brows. "You know exactly what, Prowler. C'mon. Spit it out. Let me hear it . . ." He elbowed the tactician when Prowl mulishly pressed his lips together. "C'mon Prowler, you can do it. Just two itty bitty words . . . Maybe I should get them on tape just for blackmail . . ."

Prowl abruptly exhaled all of the air he held and fixated Wheeljack with an insufferable look. "If you didn't hold it over my head like this, it might have been easier to say. I might have even felt a bit of gratitude before you kept on like this."

"C'mon, Prowl. You can do it."

Though Wheeljack couldn't see it from behind the visor, he could FEEL the mech's optic roll. "Thank you, Wheeljack."

He gave a rakish grin, Decepticon red optics brightening. "Atta boy, Prowler." He punched his shoulder before the tactician could get away, and saluted to Optimus from across the base to let him know his tactician was back in action and ready to get to work again.

Wheeljack's helm turned when he heard a raw clanging sound, and he turned to see Elita walking with while laughing, two humans and a bucket of black paint. Casino waved the paint brush. "Hey! The decoy is in place! Are you guys sure something that simple's going to work?"

Elita shrugged her shoulders. "He's been duped easier than that before," she said. She grinned in remembrance, and shook her head. "If we know Scream after fighting him for all these millennia, I KNOW this will work."

Boobie popped up to a standing position. "And if I know anything, it's if a lady's pregnant, we've gotta throw a baby shower!"

Elita's brows shot up. "A baby shower? Is it tradition for humans to give the child a shower first thing?"

Blue eyes blinked up at the giant Cybertronian, and then, she began to crack up, reeling before plopping back down on her butt, literally rocking with tears. Casino laughed and tipped her hat up so she could look the pink femme in the face. "No no no!" she snickered, shaking her head. "Oh gosh, we've got a LOT to teach you about human culture!"

She scrambled to her feet, looking across the base. She saluted. "Optimus Prime, sir, do you think we could borrow Elita for a minute?" She grinned widely and waggled her brows. "We need to have ourselves a chat with just us women."

Optimus' brows cinched, and he shook his head, saying wryly, "I have a feeling I'm going to regret this . . ."

* * *

><p>Wheeljack sat patiently. He glanced down at his human partner that morning, knowing that the only reason she hadn't gone back to sleep after watching Optimus lift off to find Ratchet was because she was irritated. She had told him to stow it a while ago, so he had. He found it was the easiest way to deal with her, even though it taxed his patience. Guitar pick plucking the strings in an almost random order, finally, her mouth opened up.<p>

"So is Raf your favorite now?"

Wheeljack snorted. "That's what's been bugging you? Don't you worry, Babe. The kid might be smart, but he'd never replace you."

He watched her lips pull. "Good."

They sat in silence a bit more, the faint melody of her guitar strings wafting up his way. Grunting and leaning against the wall they sat against, Wheeljack closed his optics and said nonchalantly, "So, the Doc's gonna be all right. Right?"

Miko nodded. "Yeah. Optimus won't let anything happen to him."

"Good."

Another lull dominated the conversation. Wheeljack pressed a sigh out of his vents. Soundwave's transponder had been rigged and was sent happily on its way right back to the Decepticons. Optimus was on its tail. Everything was going to be all right.

Everything . . . Everything was going to be all right.

Utilizing a function that had been long dormant for his duration as a brainwashed mech, Wheeljack's hologram fizzled into shape next to Miko. The young human jumped before she realized what was happening, and then a smile twisted itself on her face.

"It's been a long time since you've used that," she said to the sharp blue eyed human next to her. Her lips played a moment wistfully as she looked at him. "I miss it."

"Yeah?" He shrugged his shoulder and experimentally ran a hand through his hair. "Figured I might as well use it. Ratchet's been having glitch panics whenever I try to figure out how to link it to my spark."

Miko's brows cinched, and honey eyes flicked up from her guitar. "That's because the last time you barely got it disconnected from yourself before the thing blew up."

Wheeljack gave a roguish grin. He hit her arm playfully. "Aw, c'mon Babe. The Doc was more worried about Raf than he was me!"

He watched her lips purse up tightly around the edges and her nose wrinkle slightly as she fought back a laugh. "That's because Raf was too busy choking on the smoke! But just for the record, I was much more concerned about you frying yourself to a crisp than Raf who apparently has asthma."

Wheeljack chuckled and rubbed his hand on the top of her head, ruffling her hair. Miko made a face, making to straighten it back for a moment before giving it up and sitting her guitar down. She flopped against his side, cuddling up, and after a moment of indecision, Wheeljack wrapped his arm around her and let her place her head on his shoulder.

"So. Babe. I've been thinking."

He paused for a moment, considering how to word it once more. He registered a calculation of quick pressure where Miko poked his side, filtered to his processor as he registered what should have been the sensation of touch. "Thinking about what?" she asked innocently. Despite that, Wheeljack heard a different lilt to her tone that spoke of how much she read into his words; she understood that what he was thinking was something serious.

He cast his electric blue eyes down on her thoughtfully, a cinch and an impressed pucker of his lips marking his handsome features. "You were hanging out with Elita the other day. What'd she say to you?"

Miko mimicked the face, saying, "She said I was like her. And other than that, I can't tell. We made a promise, and my lips are sealed."

Wheeljack lifted a hand, visibly showing his surrender. "Fine. Keep it to yourself. If you're in league with the Prime's mate, that's between you two."

He registered her poking his side again. "You're avoiding whatever it was you were going to tell me."

A sigh fell from Wheeljack. Rubbing his face briefly, he squeezed Miko's shoulder in reassurance, trying to break the news gently. "Miko . . . I think things are about to start changing."

She nodded. "Yeah?"

Looking down on those big honey eyes, Wheeljack felt his spark move in a way that his processor couldn't correlate to the way he knew her. He really didn't know much about the human. Once again, he felt frustration smart him for not letting Ratchet fix him sooner.

_Fraggin' Cybertronian pride . . . It's going to cost me everything one day._

He propped a leg up and rested an elbow against it, raking his hand through his thick black hair. "The school year's ending. Next week's your last week of school. So you'll be heading back to Japan."

He paused to get her reaction. She just kept snuggling, and she said, "Yeah."

Wheeljack pushed out an uncertain breath of air. "And . . . What's been happening around here. Miko, I feel like . . . I just feel like, now that the 'Cons have apparently reconstructed the Omega Lock, Prime isn't going to let Cybertron's hope slip through our fingers again. This time, it's going to be all or nothing. We win . . . or we lose."

"Yeah."

A conflicted thought trapped in his throat. "Well, if we lose . . ." Spark skipping a beat, Wheeljack shook his head and squeezed Miko tightly again. "Well, I think we know what happens then. But if we win . . . Cybertron's going to be restored."

"And you'll be on Cybertron," Miko finished for him. She finally looked up at him. "I mean, you're an engineer. They're going to need you. I bet there's a LOT of work in rebuilding an entire planet."

He heaved a blast of air. "Yeah."

Miko nodded. "I've been thinking about things changing."

Taken aback, Wheeljack reared his head, blinking widely at her. "You have?"

That made her roll her eyes, and she said, "Yeah I've been thinking about it. It's all about to happen within a week's time. And I'm okay with going back to Japan. My dad's not going to be as big of an issue anymore because you helped me with that, so I'm not worried about him. And I'm going to see if I can improve things with Mom and get her courage up some. Because if the Autobots have taught me anything, it's to have courage and hope."

Wheeljack's chest deflated physically even as it swelled emotionally hearing her words. She really had grown up, hadn't she? And whatever Elita and her had talked about, it had obviously pulled all the strings of Miko's maturity together. Absently, Wheeljack massaged her back as she spoke.

"Jack and I are dating, and my mom and dad don't even know. I know my dad was thinking about Miai, arranged marriage, so Jack's got to prove himself. He's got a job, so that's always a plus, but he's not Asian. And he's not rich. I'm counting on my great uncle to help things." Briefly, she grinned. "He works internationally, so he's a lot more open to Americans than my dad is. And, that oughta tip you off that he's got a better job than my dad does. And on top of that, my great uncle is my grandpa's older brother." She waggled her brows at Wheeljack. "And since grandpa's dead, my dad's uncle is the oldest relative of the family and so he has the most respect. If that can't change my dad's mind about Jack, I don't know what will."

Lips pulling, Wheeljack tugged on her ponytail. "You've got this all planned out, don't you?"

She snorted. "Of course I do. You can't go to war without a plan."

"Well, in my experience . . ."

"Don't give me another Wrecker story, Wheeljack, you're giving me bad habits."

They laughed, knowing full well that Miko loved his Wrecker stories to death.

"And . . ." She shifted just a smidgen closer, and he heard her sigh. "I know you have to go back to Cybertron. They need you. And, it's not like the ground bridge is broken or anything. I mean—I know you don't have an unlimited supply of energon to fuel it, so you can't come back every week or anything, but I can still see you on big holidays and stuff, and hopefully every month since the Decepticons won't be using the other half of all the energon, so you'll be able to mine more energon for yourselves . . ."

Wheeljack heaved a sigh, and he looked down at the young human in his arms. "Miko. You know I'll stay. All you have to do is say the word."

"I know, and that's why I'm not saying it," she argued. He watched her twiddle her thumbs in her lap. "Look . . . Your planet's gonna need you when this is all over. You guys aren't really going to be able to spare anyone. I know that. And I know, even though you'll deny it, that you'd like to go home." She shifted her head on his shoulder, trying to stay comfortable. "And that's all right. We can still call each other and talk . . . Right? Can communications go that far?"

His chest tightened. "Yeah. Cybertronian ones. I could make you a phone. You'd never lose service on Earth again."

She gave a weak laugh, and Wheeljack looked back down at her again. He saw the tears in her eyes, but she just smiled and laughed, dipping her head and cuddling into his chest. Sighing, he rested his chin in her hair, holding her close.

Wheeljack was no one's fool. He knew the time stamp on this relationship. Feeling a touch sick, he knew that if he spent an entire century on the work of rebuilding Cybertron, it would barely scratch the surface of what needed to be done. And a century for Cybertronians could pass in the blink of an eye. And if he lost track of time . . . A century was far too long for Miko.

An uneven breath shuddered from him. Even without his missing memories, Wheeljack knew without a doubt that he would choose Miko over his own home. He felt a ripping pain in his spark at the very thought, but it was true. She needed him more. And in less than a century, he'd be back on Cybertron . . .

Involuntarily seizing a sharp gasp, Wheeljack grabbed Miko and tugged her close, all but crushing her in a bear hug. His fingers dug into her ponytail, all but ruining it, but he couldn't feel the silky slide of her hair. He registered her body's pressure and the temperature of her skin, but he couldn't truly feel the sensation. He could tell she was breathing because of the physical rise and fall of her chest, but there was no way he could feel her breath. He wasn't truly alive to her, and it limited their contact in a way that he felt so apart from her even when he was gripping her so tightly.

In fact, he coaxed a pained squeak from her throat. "Wh-Wheeljack! You're crushing me!"

Abruptly, he relaxed his constricting pressure, and she slumped in relief against him. "Sorry, Babe," he said, trying to blow it off as well as he could. Shakily, he tried to smooth her hair down, throat jumping with the painful reality of her brief mortality. "You all right? The . . . calibrations for this thing must be wrong. You know I can't actually feel how tight I'm holding you with this thing."

Miko pursed her lips. "Should still know when too much pressure is crushing . . ."

"I'm sorry."

She pushed him before snuggling back into his side with a sigh. "It's fine. I like this, so it doesn't matter." She hiked her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. She glanced up at him. "I hope you get your updated holoform finished soon."

His lips quirked. "Yeah, me too."

Her finger jabbed into his side. "That way I can finally figure out if you're ticklish."

A grin split his lips. "Sorry to say, Babe, but I'm not ticklish. Arcee's already tried."

Miko popped up to sit straight. "Yeah. And SPEAKING of Arcee, when are you guys going to . . . you know—" She gave a gesture with her hands. "You're planning on spark bonding with her, right?" Wheeljack paused. "I've seen the way you look at her. And I know you love her. So what are you waiting for?"

Pulling his fingers through Miko's hair, he vented sharply. "I . . . don't really know what I'm waiting for. I didn't bond with her before, so I'm sure I had good reasons to wait. Now I'm just waiting to get myself fixed again."

Miko grunted. "Sounds like as good a reason as—" Midsentence, Miko's cell phone began to ring. Eyebrows popping up, she sat up quickly, glanced at the caller ID, and stiffened. She flipped the phone open and answered the call within a second, bursting out, "Twist?" even before the mech had the chance to answer.

Labored breaths filtered into her ears. "M . . . Miko . . ."

She stood abruptly, knocking Wheeljack's arm from around her shoulders. "Twist? Twin Twist, where are you? Are you all right?"

The color washed from her face. Wheeljack's holoform disappeared, and the Cybertronian in question lifted his head, looking out across the base to see if he could see the blue and white mech in the distance.

"Easy. Breathe. Where are you?" Her fingers tightened on the phone. "I'm coming!" She snapped the phone shut and began to run, and Wheeljack followed her around the hangar they sat at. She rushed around the back, and they found Twin Twist collapsed behind the hangar, shoulders propped up against the wall as a hand scratched at his chassis. Thin vents wheezed from him, and his servo jerked; his chassis heaved. Miko scrambled up on his chassis, exploding, "Are you all right? Twist, breathe. Breathe. It's going to be all right."

His optics were wet. He shakily shook his head. "N-No," he cracked out, voice wobbling and taunt. "No, it's not . . ."

She slid forward to his shoulders, and she reached up to put a hand on his cheek. "Yes it is. Hang in there."

His mouth trembled. Choking on thin vents, he shook his head again, saying, "I can't . . . Miko . . . Miko, I'm sorry . . ."

Wheeljack pressed his lips together, and he knelt by Twin Twist. "Let me in," he said softly, nudging at the latch to his spark. His chassis doors sprang open astonishingly easy, and his epileptic hand reached to Wheeljack, clamping down on his arm weakly.

Wheeljack's brow drew grimly as he witnessed the visible struggle and stutter of Twin Twist's spark forcing itself to beat. His spark was withering without his other half, and it contracted inward like skin around ribs, grotesque and disturbing. As gently as he possibly could, Wheeljack reached in, checking the fraying wires even though it wasn't necessary. Even a person who wasn't a doctor could tell at this point.

"Wheeljack?"

His red optics flicked up to Miko whose face was wet with tears. He released a sigh, and he helped Twin Twist close his chassis, knowing the mech wouldn't have the strength to. "Miko," he murmured quietly, "the spark break is setting in." When her lips just quivered and she shook her head, Wheeljack vented harder, rubbing a hand behind his neck. "I can't do anything for him, Miko. The spark break is coming on full force. It's . . . just a matter of time now."

She dropped her head. Wheeljack knew she was crying, and he began to feel even more helpless in this situation than he had before. Gently scooping Miko off his shoulder, Wheeljack wrapped an arm beneath Twin Twist's pits and hauled him up, saying, "C'mon. Let's get you inside."

He was almost a dead weight against him. It took tremendous effort to even get his peds to stumble in the correct way, and he continued to repeat like a skipping record, "I'm sorry . . . I-I'm . . . sorry . . ."

"It's not your fault," Wheeljack said firmly, feeling the words burn like acid on his glossia.

"I-I'm sorry . . . I'm so . . . sorry . . ."

Wheeljack helped him limp into the hangar, but he didn't look at him. He kept his optics stubbornly forward so his color scheme wouldn't warp inverse like his brother's. Wheeljack just assured him again even as hot guilt poured down his throat.

"It's not your fault."

* * *

><p>Wheeljack felt . . . unhelpful at best.<p>

Twin Twist was literally dying right in front of them and they couldn't do anything but watch him waste away. That was the worst part about spark break. Watching it slowly eat a bot away. People were as helpful as they could muster, but there wasn't much to do but try to make him as comfortable as possible and assure him everything was going to turn out all right in the end.

He seemed to take heart in that. He liked the idea, and he wasn't afraid of dying because he knew he'd see his brother soon.

The bots witnessed the first real fight between Optimus and Elita. It had been quite terrifying to see the unholy wrath and frustration in Elita, but even over the comm. link, Optimus had talked her into reason, and the carrying femme had not been allowed to participate in storming the Decepticon warship. Instead, Elita stayed and ministered to Twin Twist and kept him company. The Wrecker had seemed to fully enjoy being with her, and it was then that Elita finally gave up her fight with Optimus and accompanied the perishing mech.

Still, even in the final battle, Wheeljack didn't do much. Sure, he trashed a whole slew of 'Cons, but the Wreckers and Prowl were supposed to seize the bridge. Instead, they got tossed into a brig full of Vehicons that delayed them to uselessness.

However, Wheeljack was brimming with pride over Miko. With the Apex Armor equipped, the girl had knocked the fire out of four Vehicons and then squared off with Soundwave? She was made of nothing but guts, and he loved it. And since she had been wearing the Apex Armor, she had been huggable-sized for a brief period of time again.

More impressive, Wheeljack thought, was that little Half Pint had slayed Megatron. And Bucket Head? Heh, it was about time his sorry tin can got what he deserved.

Even greater news—Bumblebee, after regaining his voice from falling into the Synthetic Cybernucleic formula, provided Ratchet with the best way to finally truly heal Prowl and Ultra Magnus. Prowl had scooped up a handful of the liquid to his face and regained his sight; even he couldn't contain the sparkle in his optics when he no longer had to use the cumbersome visor. Ultra Magnus had handled himself with even more dignity than Prowl had managed, simply rubbing where his new hand connected and kicking the claw over the edge. However, Elita may or may not have spread a little gossip that the commander's spark wasn't as tough as he wanted to think it was.

Things had slowly died down after Cybertron was restored. If Wheeljack was truthful with himself, he would admit that he got choked up when Cybertron was restored. He'd admit the stifling tears and awed disbelief at finally seeing its surface shine under the sun, glowing with health. Daresay he even hoped for the future that had once seemed so bleak?

And he couldn't deny that going back to Earth after Cybertron was restored was a bit of a disappointment. There was a longing thirst in him to begin the restoration work immediately. He couldn't WAIT to get his servos in the scrap yard and cleaning things up, working with blueprints, and building. He wanted to help. He wanted to work. He wanted to be an instrumental part in Cybertron's restoration.

But first . . .

Her peds shifted, sliding against each other as she glanced next to Wheeljack that morning before the others had awoken. Other than Ratchet and the Prime, who were always up this early, not a soul stirred.

"So. Wheeljack," Arcee said softly, fidgeting nervously again. "I . . . meant to tell you before, but . . . Before . . . Before the 'Cons processor wiped you . . . You never told me that you loved me."

Wheeljack glanced over at her, elbows leaned on his knees. "I didn't?"

Arcee shook her head. "No." She paused. Then, she shook her head again. "Well, you never said it in so many words . . . but you showed it. Primus did you show it . . . You just—didn't SAY it . . ."

Scrutinizing her, Wheeljack cocked an optic brow. "And you're worried I didn't actually love you?" Arcee made a tiny gesture of confirmation, and Wheeljack rolled his optics with a snort. "Angel, if I've told you I loved you while I'm a brainwashed Decepticon, you've got no need to worry. I'm sure I was just saving it for the right moment. I bet when I get back in my right frame of mind, I'll realize I blew the chance because my Decepticon self has a big mouth."

Arcee's lips quirked up and she laughed quietly in the berth room with him. Lifting her helm to look at him, her blue optics softened as red stared back at her. Tenderly, she reached up to gently stroke an audio receptor.

"I am going to be so happy to have you back," she breathed softly. Wheeljack's lips curled into a smile as well, and then, Arcee's expression grew a mite more mischievous. "And I like the new nickname much better than Doll."

Wheeljack snorted and waggled his brows. "Yeah? Because I'm basically calling you terrible and awe-inspiring and unknowable and many-faced, all covered in a thousand blinking eyes and drenched in holy fire."

"Drenched in holy fire sounds sexy."

"Yes it does."

There was a pause, and then the couple snickered to themselves that morning. Wheeljack nudged her ped with his foot, and she returned the gesture; they played a little game of footsie as they waited until a chirp sounded in Wheeljack's audio receptor. Stilling, Wheeljack heaved a sigh, straightened, and touched his audio receptor. "Doc?"

"I'm going to rewire your processor so you won't ever call me Doc again," Ratchet snipped at him from over the comm. link. "I'm ready for you."

Wheeljack's spark gave a silly, involuntary hiccup over the light threat, but he made himself ignore it. "Miko said she was coming."

"She's here," the doctor replied, and Wheeljack lifted his helm, hearing the engine of a car faintly in the brisk morning. "Quit stalling. I don't have the time to waste."

The comm. link shut off when Ratchet effectively hung up. Cycling a vent slowly out of his systems, Wheeljack jumped when Arcee's servo laid on his arm.

Concerned blue optics touched his. "Wheeljack," she said softly, "Ratchet's going to fix you."

Shoving away the uneasy feeling his processor brought up of past tortures, Wheeljack flashed bravado in the form of a snarky grin at her. "I know, Angel," he assured her, vocalizer almost purring. "Quit your worrying and let's go."

Standing and tugging Arcee's servo, Wheeljack brought her past the others in their recharge. On their way out however, he felt a hand half-heartedly knock his thigh to catch his attention. Glancing downwards, a drowsy Bumblebee said, not in chirps and beeps but his natural voice, "Hope everything goes well." Sleep-laden optics whirred closed again, and Wheeljack's lips quirked up.

"Thanks, Half Pint."

Exiting the hangar, the sun was just beginning to stir upon the horizon with a sliver of orange light beginning to cut through the dark. The first thing Wheeljack's optics alighted upon was a small human who was highly disgruntled in the early morning, complaining quite loudly to Mrs. Davis, "I know, I KNOW. Can't I just take my guitar though? C'mon, for study breaks!"

Wheeljack wrinkled up his olfactory system as if displeased. "Hey now!" Both female humans looked up, and he walked up to stare down at them and crossed his arms. "Miko. What'd we promise?"

She shoved out her bottom lip with a disdainful pout. "I'd study," she said grumpily.

He flashed a grin. "Atta girl. You've got finals starting tomorrow, and I want you passing them all with flying colors. Got it?"

Her severe scowl was marred with a powerful yawn. "Right. Finals. I can pass those."

Wheeljack smiled then, stooping and picking Miko up in his servo. "Thanks for dropping her off, Mrs. Davis," he said to the elder human.

She waved him away. "It was no trouble, Wheeljack. Arcee. I have a patient this morning, so I've got to hurry out. I'll see you when you're fixed again, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack, Arcee, and Miko waved as Mrs. Davis pulled out, and Wheeljack gently bounced Miko in his hand. She huffed because she was tired that morning, but Wheeljack smiled, optics twinkling with delight that she had actually come. "You ready, Babe?"

Miko graced him with a grin, hair falling about her shoulders as she clearly hadn't taken much of any time to do her hair. The tousled style looked good on her. "Sure am. I can't wait to get you back to your regular old self again!"

Tugging Arcee's hand and walking the girls in, Wheeljack chuckled a littler nervously at the sight of Ratchet fiddling with his instruments on the other side of the base. "Yeah? Shouldn't be long now. Tell you what, if you go steady on that studying, get all of your study guides filled out and can answer 60% of the questions right, we'll take a couple hours out to go dune bashing with some, ahem, INTERACTIVE learning."

Miko's eyes lit up. "Yeah? I can do that! Right? Hey, Doc bot! How long's it going to take to fix Wheeljack?"

There was an almost audible grumble about nicknames, human tongues, and pliers. "That depends upon exactly how much damage the Decepticons did to his processor," Ratchet replied thinly. "It could take from any number of hours." The medic turned around and faced them with his lips pressed thinly, patience already taxed that morning. He jutted his servo out to Wheeljack. "Neurocaroxic line?"

Cycling a deep breath, Wheeljack reached into his subspace, consciously and physically choosing to trust the mech. He dropped the container into Ratchet's open servo, and the medic immediately opened the top and slid the cable into his palm. Inspecting it for damages or frayed ends of any kinds, he apparently chose to trust the part, and placed it back inside its container. He waved a servo out to the medical slab. "The sooner you lay down, the sooner we can get started."

Wheeljack felt his fuel pumps almost physically begin to swell from energon pressure. As calmly as he possibly could, he said conversationally, "Sure thing, Doc."

"My name is NOT Doc."

Depositing Miko into Arcee's hands, the human gave a supportive grin, and she saluted and winked. "Don't you worry, Wheeljack. I'll be right here when you wake up again, all right?"

His plating relaxed a little at the very thought. "Yeah, thanks Babe."

His red-optic gaze returned to the medical berth. For a minute, he stood in indecision, his processor for the nth time turning over all the information, analyzing, contemplating, and even his spark feeling what he thought to be true. Everything lined up except what he knew. An internal war raged with himself, but he couldn't deny the doctor's findings on his spark and how it reacted to the human every single time.

He glanced over at Miko, and his lips quirked up as he willfully sat down on the edge of the berth and laid flat. Clipped and professional, Ratchet said, "If you'll please, Wheeljack, open up your spark chamber and unlock your processor ingresses."

Suppressing a tremble, knowing full well that the only way for a medic to get into a spark chamber was to either have the patient willfully open or forcefully open, Wheeljack heaved a break and allowed the mechanisms asked for to spring open. He shivered at the sudden draft of cold and exposure, and his helm tipped up.

"Ratchet? I can trust you, right?"

The medic didn't miss a beat. "Of course not." Attaching the cable to Wheeljack's chassis, Ratchet turned to the computer and began to activate the machinery, and immediately Wheeljack felt the electrical charges settling and the energy drawing from him as stasis began to take effect at a rapid pace. His optics drew shut before he could stop them, vaguely hearing something supportive from Miko, but latching to the other's words as stasis took him.

"Now quit your worrying. I'm a medic, not a scientist. I heal. And it's about time you were back to your normal self."


	67. Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

**DISCLAIMER: Grab your hankies, y'all! You're gonna need them!**

**Also, show some love to my newest fav/followers Generalhyna, Mindscape-v2903, firegirlf16, Technorganic Nerd, and Ash the Overlord Of Dorks!**

**And as always, MUCH love and thanks to my loyal reviewers! :) I love hearing you guys! Spiritstrike, lolistarkiller, BossBot97, Technorganic Nerd, Dragonstormgirl, couriosity, Fanatic97, Filly92, Autobot Chromia, Katie Gibbs, Foxbear, Autobot Mech-Ops, ZabuzasGirl, Guest, enmused, and Sounddrive! I don't think I'll hit my goal of 1000 reviews, but let's shoot for 900! *heart***

* * *

><p>It was almost like . . . two different parts of his processor reconnecting. Like a phone with slow internet connection, the memories caught up with him, uploading in a blur. Refreshing and the dots connecting, the information dump was almost enough to make his processor crash.<p>

"Wheeljack? Open your optics. I know you're online. Vitals are steady, and as far as I know, you're fixed."

An uneven vent staggered from his systems. "I don't want to open my optics," he finally said softly. His spark pulsed in pain, a tidal wave of memories consuming his processor as he sought to come to grips at what the Decepticons had done to him. What he'd been foolish enough to believe.

"Fine, then keep them shut." He heard the doctor moving about above him. "Then at least be helpful enough to answer some questions for me. My scanners aren't picking up any more abnormalities, but I want you to run a self-diagnostic for me and check for anything I might have missed. I need to know if there's any inconsistencies or—"

"Shut up, Doc. I'm fine. I . . . I'm fixed."

Another harsh vent stuttered from his systems. He reached up his servos over his face, trying to hold back the grief. He felt it deep within, bubbling up to the surface until it was just beneath the skin. His jaw clenched. "Where's Miko? She said she'd be here."

"She's currently in her last final, and she'll be here within the hour."

An audible whine echoed from his systems. He had to tackle the worst things first. It was like he could feel his hollow optics cutting into him and overshadowing his every move. A wracking tremble shivered across his plating. The memory was so real. It was so real, like he could feel the impacts of his fist splintering his plating and the hot spray of energon on his servos again, and the grisly image of his brother-in-arms laid to waste beneath him—

Another hitch ripped through his system. He felt a rap on his helm. "Wheeljack." Ratchet's voice was gentler now, respecting what the Wrecker was processing. "Wheeljack, I need a reaction from you. You have to wake up and face it sometime."

"Frag off, Doc!" Violently, Wheeljack threw Ratchet's arm away, and he abruptly sat up and turned away from the medic, shaking so hard he couldn't see straight. He pressed his palms to his optics again, feeling sick on the inside.

_I'm a monster._

Shivering so hard his plating rattled, Wheeljack summoned up what was left of his courage to look up and find Twin Twist. The blue and white mech gave a flimsy, but real smile.

"Hey. How you feeling, Jackie? Is the ol' Jack Attack back?" His lips pulled again, lopsided. "C'mon, Blinky. Say something."

A rough sob clotted in his throat. Wheeljack lurched up and bolted across the base to the mech, and he threw his arms around him, practically crushing the Wrecker to his chassis.

His throat was filled with an odd assortment of tears, bile, and guilt. "I'm sorry," he rasped out, trembling violently. "I'm . . . I'm sorry . . ."

He felt a hand patting his back. "Quit that. It's fine."

"No it's not!" he snapped roughly, fingers digging into him. For a second, he didn't realize he had shed lubricant on him, but he lifted his helm and wiped it on his shoulder. He glared at Twin Twist, angry and horrified that he would even suggest it. "That is NOT okay, Twist! Don't you ever say that!"

The brief smile that had tried to paint his face faded. His optics dimmed. "All right," he muttered gruffly. "So it's not okay. But I don't need you giving yourself Pit over it either, all right?"

"Twist—"

"Wheeljack, shut up," Twin Twist interrupted, shifting his sitting position on the ground. "I know exactly what you're going to do, and I don't want you to hold any of this over your helm. It wasn't your fault."

"Twist, I KILLED Topspin! Mercilessly—"

"I know what you did," Twin Twist cut in harshly, a violent tremble making him wince away. His vocalizer filled with static before it cleared. "What I'm saying is, you can't let the guilt eat you up because the 'Cons did a number on you. I—"

"Stop it! You can't just forgive me for—"

"Wheeljack, shut the frag up," Twin Twist snapped. He glared. "I'm a dying mech, let me say my piece."

They caught optics, and for a second, Wheeljack couldn't speak past the pressure in his throat. "You're not dying," he whispered futilely.

"Yeah, I am," he replied. Twin Twist gave a soft sigh, relaxing a little as he embraced the thought. "It'll be good. I can't wait to see Spin again, and now that I know you're back to normal and you can take care of that Wrecker of a human, it'll all be good again."

Wheeljack's spark rate took off. He shook his head. "C'mon, Twist, don't talk like that. There's—I'll bond with you, Twist. I'll do it. It'll give you something to hold on for."

He actually got Twin Twist to laugh. The blue and white Wrecker leaned against the wall in exhaustion, shaking his head. "Please, if you frag up your spark with splintering relationships anymore than you have, you'll break yourself as well." When Wheeljack just stared, Twin Twist's features softened in sympathy. "Besides. My spark's been shutting down for a while now. I haven't been able to even transform the past couple of days."

A sickening feeling spread over his systems. A ghost-like shiver spread down his struts. He looked down on his shaking hands, rasping softly, "Twist, I . . . I can't let you die, Twist. I can't . . . I can't have killed you both, please . . ."

"You didn't," Twin Twist said with a faint, sad smile. "Shockwave did. And you know it. Unfortunately, you were just his tool of doing the dirty deed . . . Just sic him good when you've got the chance, all right?"

Wheeljack nodded rapidly. "Right. I'll do that."

"Good. Take care of that kiddo of yours too, right? She's a real good kid."

He nodded again, feeling his vocalizer thicken and wetness sting his optics. "Right."

Twin Twist gave a soft, waning laugh. "Pit, I hung around long enough to see Cybertron restored . . . and you." His lips tipped up. "I think that's reward enough." Wheeljack felt his spark shatter. Twin Twist reached for him. "C'mere. I just need—"

Wheeljack grabbed a hold of him, knowing from his time as a miner how he craved physical touch. Twin Twist relaxed almost immediately, taking comfort in the gesture, and Wheeljack felt his throat close off as he inevitably waited for the end. His spark stuttered as he listened to Twin Twist's vents slow and sputter to a silent halt. His body slumped against him, and Wheeljack gripped him tighter, desperately trying to hold on to him as he slipped away right in his arms. His lips trembled. His voice cracked.

"Twist?"

No answer. Wheeljack felt his chassis begin to heave with rapid vents as he clutched him tighter. "Twist?" he rasped again, voice breaking under the strain of his tears. He bowed his head into his neck, hyperventilating softly into the cold metal. "Twist . . . Twist . . . C'mon, Twist . . ."

Somewhere in his broken pleading, Wheeljack felt sobs catching and heaving from his vents. The pained weeping fell from his mouth plates with great intensity, and he felt his spark cracking, splitting beyond what it had done before, and all the seams became undone. Cries broke from his mouth, some kind of lamenting he hadn't experienced before. It felt hopeless. It felt despairing. It felt dead, and life held no more purpose. The world swam in tears and splotched out of existence as his optics cut out. He felt his servos seizing, his body seizing, and he thought somewhere in the mix he had stopped pleading for the dead and began pleading for the living.

Someone turned him over, and only his logic told him it was Ratchet above him. Servos shook him. Another weeping cry wobbled from his mouth plates, and he jolted, feeling all his strength seep away.

Twin Twist's name faded away.

Miko's name rose into existence.

* * *

><p>Slowly, he felt himself coming online. He felt like his limbs were dead weights, in a sense, close to a human's experience of sleep paralysis or rigamorits. His spark pulsed faintly, weakly, and he felt the waves of a scan ripple through him he was so sensitive.<p>

"C'mon, Wheeljack," he heard someone mutter through a tunnel. "Pull out . . ."

Was that . . . music? Wheeljack strained to stay functional, his large audios picking up the faint melody that became stronger the more he focused on it. He knew that melody . . . Oh, he knew that melody from the depths of his spark . . .

_"I wanted you to know . . . that I love the way you laugh . . ."_

He seemed to gain strength from that alone. But Primus alive, that meant Miko was nearby. She was right there. Seeking to say something, a muffled mumble caught around dysfunctional lips.

"Wheeljack?"

Two voices, this time. The doctor's, and a small human's. He felt a hand slap his face gently. "C'mon, you sack of bolts, wake up. I know you're right there, so quit hanging out on us. Wake up. She's waited long enough."

"Wheeljack? Wheeljack, wake up! Please, please wake up! Wheeljack? You're okay, Wheeljack, just wake up. Wake up, please?"

A frustrated groan fell from his vocalizer as he tried to get function back into his body. He was right there. He was waking up. Ratchet, stop hitting him. I love you, Babe. Keep singing. He had so much he wanted to tell her. He felt himself shift his entire body with the effort, and he felt Miko scramble to her feet on his chassis.

"Wheeljack! That's right, Wheeljack! Wake up! You're almost there!"

His optics. Yes. Those had to open. Struggling with laboring vents, Wheeljack forced his optics to online, and they flickered and fizzed angrily with static, but after a moment, they cut on and stayed on. He winced a little at how bright the hangar seemed. His mouth plates finally decided to function near correctly.

"Miko . . ."

Her name was a sigh of relief. He heard her give a cross between a squeal and a sob, and she collapsed down at his neck, cuddling up near his audios as a tremble shook her body. Her little fists beat at him.

"You scared me!" she rasped out on a whispered scream. "You scared me, Daddy, don't you ever scare me like that again!"

Another unhelpful grunt felt from his systems, and his servo tried to move and flopped to the side, hitting something. There was a sigh from above and the soft harrumph of collection. "Well, the first sign of recovery is waking up. It's about time, you lazy Wrecker." A hand plucked his up by the wrist and dropped it back on the medical slab. "Quit moving for a minute. Let your system's run its checks and you should be functioning again. Stay awake. I don't need you in another forced stasis for two days."

Wheeljack felt his systems jam and skip. Two days? He summoned up the energy for some more words, knowing he owed them to the human sobbing at his neck.

"I'm sorry . . ."

She hit his cheek again with unconvincing force. "You better be sorry!" He heard her sucking in her breath, trying to catch the tears and stop as she hiccupped. "You scared me! You SCARED me! Don't—Don't you ever do that again!"

"I won't, Babe," he breathed, slowly feeling the function Ratchet promised coming back as he tested his fingers. "I promise. I'm sorry . . ."

He heard her sniffle more, trying to control her running nose. "I'm sorry," she said, cuddling into him more even as she said it. "I don't mean to be mean, I just . . . You SCARED me. I thought—I thought—"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, feeling smaller by the minute. "It's just a little spark failure, Babe, I'm fine."

She hit his cheek again. "Shut up."

Wheeljack sighed, and he tilted his helm towards Miko, nuzzling her gently in apology. Another scan rolled over him, and Ratchet gave a perturbed hum.

"That's good. You two, keep talking. Levels are improving a little. Miko, you keep camping right there, too. When are you going back to Japan?"

"Next week," Miko answered dutifully from Wheeljack's neck. "Next Monday."

"That's not enough time," Ratchet muttered under his breath, and in the same moment, Wheeljack felt his spark seize in dread at being parted with her. Ratchet swore, detecting the sudden dip in Wheeljack's spark levels, and he snapped, "Wheeljack, stop it! Get a hold of yourself, she's not going anywhere!"

"I'm fine!" Wheeljack gasped, chest tightening as he very forcefully pushed the feeling away. "I'm fine, I swear, Doc. I just . . . forgot for a moment. I'll be fine."

"Like Pit you'll be fine . . ." he heard the medic swear under his breath as he turned away. There was even more tangent about "falling into stasis lock" and "giving me a spark attack" and other such explicit material on how angry and worried he was, but Wheeljack tuned it out. Instead, with a heavy grunt, Wheeljack lifted a servo to steady Miko, and then, he propped his other arm beneath him. In a moment, Ratchet was back by his side to help and support him, and with a grimace, Wheeljack pushed himself into a sitting position. His optics lifted, and they rested on Arcee.

She was sitting on the other medical berth as a stool, legs pressed together and elbows tucked in at her sides, the picture of stress and grief. Her servos were pressed to her mouth, and her optics were wide as saucers, and if Wheeljack wasn't mistaken, she was shaking. Instead, as all the current events with Arcee caught up with his mind, Wheeljack felt his spark hurt and a swear word float to mind. None of that was supposed to happen.

"Arcee?"

She didn't seem to respond for a moment. She just stared at him, and then, she blurted, "I'm glad you've got your blue optics back," before she bolted and literally ran from the hangar in a miniature tornado of feelings.

His optics trailed her out. His spark felt even sicker.

_I really am the scum of both Earth and Cybertron._

Across the way, he noticed Elita touch Optimus' arm, and she murmured, "I'll talk to her," before stealing a kiss and heading on her way. Optimus watched her go, as any mech drunk in love would, and then he turned solemn optics back towards Wheeljack. He took several steps towards him. "We are glad to see you functioning again, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack felt his jaw tick. "What'd you do with Twist?"

"He's ready for a proper burial," he said with a nod of his helm. "I thought you would like to be there."

"He'll have to regain some strength, first," Ratchet cut in quickly.

Wheeljack heaved a sigh, dropping his chin. "I will. Don't worry." Then, he blinked at the assortment of items in his lap. The only thing that had saved Miko's guitar from breaking was the sleeping bag it had fallen on. A box of tissues sat crooked upon an overturned waste basket of used tissues and half eaten food.

A poke on his cheek brought his attention down. "Bumblebee picked me up from school," Miko said, wiping her cheeks and nose. She sniffed. "Ratchet wanted me here immediately when you . . . went into spark shock and stuff, and he wouldn't let me get off your chassis. Said it was good for your spark. Besides, I didn't want to leave anyway."

Wheeljack felt his vocalizer thicken. "Thanks, Babe," he said softly. He brought her close to his chassis again, murmuring, "I'm not going anywhere, Babe. I promise . . ."

_Except maybe the Pit for what I'm going to do to Arcee._

And for some time, he was able to avoid the ugly confrontation with her. Mostly because the first day, while she hovered in the room, she couldn't bring herself to speak to him. That was fine because he made a great show of being enamored with Miko—which in itself, wasn't a show at all—and he fell back into recharge early in the night, exhausted. He slept a good portion of the next day away before they gave Twin Twist a proper burial in which Wheeljack was only able to choke out a few words for his fallen brother and his twin before Optimus took over quite well, and even Ultra Magnus had good words. He took comfort in the brothers' being able to enunciate what he couldn't.

And even, the rest of that day, she let him be. Mostly because he made a clear improvement (in Ratchet's words, at least) and Wheeljack suspected it had something to do with the finality of actually putting Topspin's other half to rest and knowing, that somewhere beyond the void of the All Spark, they were together again, resting in peace.

His crucifixion came when Miko left for the first time to get a needed shower.

He had actually been talking to Smokescreen of all bots, most likely because Twist's death had effected the bot too since he had been a close friend, but Wheeljack felt himself cringing on the inside when Smokescreen clearly saw Arcee across the base, and he GRINNED. Brightly, cheerfully, and altogether too quickly, Smokescreen made some half-sparked excuse about racing with Bumblebee before he scampered away with a pointed thumbs up Arcee's way.

Knowing his spark was still weak, Wheeljack took a steadying breath and steeled his insides, preparing himself for what laid ahead. He had held the same thought before he had been processor washed, and now, even after he had more days to think it over, he was sure he was doing the right thing. It might hurt . . . but she'd get over it. One day. And even if she didn't, he was sparing her from a much worse fate . . .

His servos tightened on the medical berth he sat on when he felt her settle next to him. There was a pregnant beat of awkward silence, and then, she cleared her vocalizer quietly.

"Um . . . Hi."

His optics flicked up to her. "Hey." Then, his gaze dropped again as he lost the courage to look her in her optics, lest she see straight through to his soul.

Arcee sucked in a tight breath. She began to say something, hesitated, and then admitted, "You . . . You haven't talked to me at all the past couple of days."

He rocked back, throat tightening. "Yeah. I know."

He let his optics roam the room, taking in Ratchet and Optimus talking on the other end, the only souls that could possibly overhear them it things got ugly. When things got ugly. Elita was out with the human soldiers again, setting up for their goodbye party and baby shower that night. Bumblebee and Smokescreen were who knew where. Prowl and Magnus were on the _NEMESIS_ watching over their captives.

Arcee's vents seemed to catch with a kind of hidden dread. "Why?" she finally managed. "I mean . . . you're fixed, right? You remember everything?"

Wheeljack's jaw ticked. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember everything."

She paused. "And . . . You remember us?"

He squeezed his optics shut. "Yes."

Her optics roved his pinched face. Wheeljack felt his winglets tense under her gaze. "Then . . . What . . . What's wrong?" she whispered.

"I'm a loudmouthed Decepticon," he finally blurted out. He had to get the ball rolling somehow or he'd never have the strength to go through with it. "I . . . I told you I loved you, and . . . you weren't supposed to hear that."

There was a pause, and then, Arcee gave a nervous laugh. "It's okay if it wasn't what you had planned," she said to him, peds rubbing against each other. "It—"

Wheeljack shook his head. "No, Arcee," he said softly, feeling his spark hurting at the words. "You were EVER supposed to hear those words from me."

Thunderous silence lashed over him. He lifted his helm, staring at a fixed point on the wall as he said quietly, "I wasn't ever going to tell you. I was going to . . . distance myself from you slowly. You know, just a show of not caring anymore, and break it off gently—"

"What are you talking about, Wheeljack?"

He winced at the hurt, accusing tone of her voice. Finally, unable to avoid it, Wheeljack looked at her. Her betrayed optics were open wide, to the point it cut. "I'm saying this isn't going to work anymore," he admitted bluntly.

"And why not?"

She attacked him with her words. He cringed again, but he met her optics steadily, arguing his point. "You saw what just happened to me over a little fracture. And I'm bonded with Miko. BONDED, Arcee. Albeit artificially, but the residue remains the same. I'm dying, Arcee, a slow death—"

"Stop talking like that!" she snapped angrily, optics beginning to spit fire. "That has nothing to do with us!"

"Yes it does!" Wheeljack persisted, struggling to keep his voice level. "I don't have a ghost of a chance of surviving the spark break when she dies, and she's got barely a vorn left to live! Arcee, I know when I'm going to die, and—"

"You don't know anything," she sneered before that scared look overtook her again as she picked up on what he was insinuating. "You don't know that. You could live. You can—"

"No, I can't," Wheeljack stated firmly, spark skipping an unsteady beat when Arcee reared back like he had struck her. "And I know what the levels of spark break feel like, Arcee. I've had enough fractures that Ratchet said the severity of it equaled spark break, and I won't let you go through that—"

"No!" She shook her head, grabbing his hand. "I don't care! Wheeljack, I love you, and I'd rather have you for just a little bit than never at all! I'm willing to endure anything for you!"

"Not spark break!" he stressed even harder. He felt his optics tightening with frustration. "Arcee, I'm not going to let you experience something like that! People DIE because of spark break, and I'm not willing to chance it with you!"

"That's not your decision to make!" Arcee snapped, jolting to her peds in anger as the sparks began to fly. "It's MINE. I'll choose whether or not I want to be with you!"

Wheeljack felt his vocalizer fuse in dread before his mouth opened to drive the nail in the coffin. He stood. "Yes, it is my decision, Arcee, and my decision is that I don't want to be with you!"

She recoiled again, his words acting as physical blows while she stood rooted to the spot and optics rounded wide. The sheer betrayal and hurt he saw reflected in her optics made his spark move against him, and he felt his features falter into compassion again. He reached to her. "Arcee, you've got to understand, I'm trying to protect you—"

Arcee reacted violently, yanking her arm away from him as tears began to glitter in her optics. "Don't you TOUCH me," she hissed, chassis already heaving with the effort it was taking her to hold on to the tears. "Don't you ever touch me again!"

Wheeljack swallowed, feeling his spark breaking again. "It's for your own good—" he started to say softly, but she cut him off.

"Shut up!" Her servos curled up into tight fists, and they shook like she was going to haul off and hit him, but she didn't. "I—I—I don't ever want to speak to you again!"

She choked on a sob, and she turned on her heel, running from the base. For one moment Wheeljack reached out to her, and then, so frustrated and hurt and angry at himself, Wheeljack released a shout through a gritted growl, and he overturned the medical slab, the most exertion he had put his body through since his spark failure. Shaking in the aftermath and the quiet, his ragged breaths heaved through his body like fire. Stumbling back into the computer, Wheeljack sank to the floor, trembling at what he had done.

For a minute, he just kept his servos clutching at his helm until he noticed that Ratchet had squatted down next to him to take a scan. Wheeljack waved his hand when the doctor took another reading of his spark.

"I'll live, Doc."

Drawing in a stabilizing vent, Wheeljack sighed, letting his body relax after the whirlwind of passions. He had known it wasn't going to be easy, but now that it was done, he felt . . . relieved, if that was the right word to put on the feeling. She would be safe. He wouldn't futilely bond with her only to be dead within a vorn and cause her to suffer spark break for the rest of her life—that is, if she pulled through it and didn't die initially from it.

Spark slowing from its erratic race, Wheeljack's shoulders slumped. It was for her own good. He knew his time limit was for when Miko died, and he couldn't change it. His spark was too weak to survive the break, and no amount of patching was going to keep him alive at this point. If he could save Arcee from that kind of agony, he would.

Ratchet grunted next to him. "If you want my opinion, you're a coward, and that was the worst excuse to break it off with her."

Wheeljack lifted his blue optics to the medic. "But you can't argue that it's not a valid reason." When Ratchet just pressed his lips together mulishly at that, Wheeljack nodded and leaded his helm against the computer he rested against. He closed his optics. "I hope she never knows the kind of pain I'm protecting her from," he murmured softly.

Ratchet stood with a snort. "I think she already does . . ." the medic muttered as he walked away.

Wheeljack shook his head even though Ratchet wasn't there to see it. No. She thought she knew what she was in for, but she didn't. His spark pulsed weakly. Not that kind of pain. He couldn't ever willfully push that on her just to satisfy his own selfish wants.

Regardless, he hoped she would always know that he loved her. Upon his Wrecking pride . . . upon his spark . . .

He would always love her.

* * *

><p>Wheeljack and Miko were driving laps around the base, just to distract themselves that morning as they waited for the sun to rise. This morning, the Autobots would be heading back to Cybertron; that afternoon, Miko was heading back to Japan. She was all but packed thanks to Wheeljack visiting her house the other night and forcing her to pack. And now? As they drove, she kept talking and talking and talking. It was as if she were making up for all the time she lost with Wheeljack while he was processor-washed, and all the time she would lose with him when everyone had to leave.<p>

"Ratchet says your spark levels are slowly improving," Miko said, leaning an elbow against the arm rest. "But you still seem depressed."

Wheeljack gave a soft chuckle, his holoform sitting in the driver's seat next to her, holding her hand and drawing little circles in her skin with his thumb. "Yeah, I'm still a little depressed," he said gently. "It's going to take some time to get over Twin Twist and Topspin, but . . . I think I'll be able to manage better this time around." His lips quirked up, and he reached over, giving a gentle tug on Miko's ponytail. "After all, I've got some pretty good emotional support that's helped in more than a thousand ways."

Miko giggled at the playful gesture and pushed his hand away. "Yeah? That's good, because you need a lot of it. You better be happy I'm a patient human."

He laughed, squeezing her hand and fixing her with a look. "You? You of all the humans on this planet, patient? Aren't you the one who WATCHES the microwave cook her food because she thinks her food should be done immediately?"

"Oh please, ALL humans do that!" Miko defended herself.

Wheeljack chuckled, nudging her shoulder. "That so? Then explain to me why you threw your things together so quickly last night that Mrs. Davis went back through your belongs to actually fold your clothes and make sure nothing was falling out of any half-zipped zippers?"

"I was in a HURRY," she explained as if it were the most obvious thing.

He snorted that time, shaking his head at her even as his smile broadened. "How about the time you shouted at Mrs. Davis to hurry up dinner because you had places to be when that Slash Monkey concert wasn't for a grand several hours yet? Even your music is impatient, trying to fit eighty-eight notes into one musical notation!"

Finally, Miko cracked a laugh, saying, "All right, all right! So I'm not the most patient human, but I've gotten better! I swear I have! I'm sixteen now, and I'm all grown up. Right?"

Wheeljack chuckled, and he smiled, shaking a finger at her as he made yet another pointless lap around the base. "Yeah, you're not all grown up yet, though you're certainly turning into a fine young lady."

Miko blushed in pride, and she grinned. "I am?"

"Sure are," he said, spark feeling more at ease the longer he spent with her. "Jack sure is a lucky little human. And he better treat you perfectly, or he won't like what an angry papa Cybertronian looks like."

She grinned, materializing the cute little wrinkle in her nose that Wheeljack lived to see. "I'm sure Jack will be the perfect gentleman. And if not, I'll hit him in his nuts. Then I'll let you have him."

They shared another laugh, and as they did, Wheeljack noticed at the same time she did Ultra Magnus step from the hangar and give a gesture for them to wrap it up. A sigh decompressed from Wheeljack's systems as the gaiety bubble popped to a more somber note as Miko grew quiet.

"So, what's the first thing you're going to do when you get back to Japan?"

Her lips pulled and relaxed. "I'm going to call you and make sure my new phone works right."

Wheeljack nodded, and he reached over, playing with her ponytail sentimentally. "Good girl."

"And when you get to Cybertron, you're going to finally figure out your holoform, right?"

Wheeljack nodded as they made another lap around the base, this time slowly, as if it was going to buy them more time. "Yeah, I'll finally get that thing straightened out in the midst of all the work that's going to need to be put into Cybertron. I'll make sure to send you pictures of all my completed works."

"Good," she said. She hitched up her feet on the seat to sit her chin on her knees. She cleared her throat conspicuously. "And if my phone doesn't work right, I'll pester Ratchet day in and day out until he fixes it."

"You pester that mech until he rues the day he let you have a broken phone in the first place."

Miko gave a little, weak laugh. "Yeah. I can do that easily. And you've got that jump drive of all my music, right? There's some original stuff in there I haven't shared with anyone yet, so you're privileged."

Wheeljack cleared his throat as well. He stroked his fingers through her hair, longing for the day when he could finally feel it for himself. "Yeah, I've got it. And if you're going to be serious about becoming an agent, work hard and train hard. You'd make a really good one."

"Sure. I'll make sure I pass all my classes too. I'm smart enough, and I'll even let you know how I'm doing. You should figure out how to set up Skype from intergalactic distances."

He laughed for a moment and shook his head in disbelief at her ideas. "Sure thing, Babe. I'll get to work on that too."

"And you'll be back for Christmas and my birthday, right? No excuses? Every year?"

"Most certainly," Wheeljack said, spark warming at the allotted weeks he got with his human for his health's sake. If there was one good thing about his failing spark, it was that it gave him the perfect excuse to visit Miko. "We're gonna have a blast those weeks."

"Yeah," Miko said softly, smiling wistfully as she hunkered into his seat even more. "And if your spark levels ever dip below that point Ratchet was talking about, you come back to me immediately, right? No excuses. Promise?"

Wheeljack chuckled, leaning his holoform over to head butt her. "I promise, sweet spark. Any time it happens."

"Good." She paused. "You get to come back for my graduation too, right?" she said hopefully, trying to swindle as many days as possible.

"Yeah, you get graduation," he acquiesced.

"And when I graduate college, too."

"Yeah."

"And when I'm getting married. You have to be there."

"Yeah. Gotta approve the chosen boy."

"And whenever I have a baby you have to come. You have to see your grandbabies. I'll have a slew of them. That way you have to come for their birthdays too, and then you won't ever be able to get off this planet again."

Wheeljack chuckled, nuzzling her head and tugging cheekily on her ponytail. "Is that so? I might have to alert the Prime of your devious scheming to get me captured!"

Miko giggled a little, snuggling into him. "Yeah? He won't be able to do anything to help you. I'm the grand master schemer. No one can outwit me."

As Wheeljack slowly circled around, he noticed Ultra Magnus step out again. The mech gave a more final show that it was time to go, and Wheeljack released another hissing vent of resignation.

"Dad?"

He looked down at Miko immediately. "Yeah?"

Her lips wobbled, and the tears brimmed up and overflowed. "I really don't want you to go!"

The waterworks started so quickly Wheeljack didn't have the time to try and quell them. Transforming, Wheeljack cuddled Miko in his palm and held her to his chassis, and he began a slow walk towards the base.

"I'm right here," he murmured softly, knowing he wasn't going to be able to say those words as much anymore. Releasing a resigned vent of air, Wheeljack held her as close to his chassis as he could, the image of a flower came to his mind as she could so easily be crushed.

And in a split moment, he was brought back to the very moment he had promised to protect her. It had been almost exactly like this, hadn't it? They had lost Bulkhead, and he had entered her life by cradling her to his chassis; now, while he wasn't leaving for good, there was going to be distance between them, and he chose again to hold her close to his chassis.

Wheeljack lifted his blue optics up to the sky with the luminous burning sun. Primus really did have some sort of humor, didn't he?

As he approached the silo, he slowed down even more, sensitive that Miko was still catching her tears and wiping her eyes and nose. He knew she wouldn't want anyone to see her like this. He gentle rubbed the top of her head with a finger.

"Are you all right, Babe?"

She sniffed loudly, but she nodded, wiping up the last of the waterworks. "Yeah," she said, voice actually strong and convincing. "Yeah, I'm fine, but I had to cry, y'know?" She sniffed again, making a face as she muttered something about needing to blow her nose. She lifted her face, looking up at him. "I'll be good. You?"

His lips tipped up. "Yeah, I'll be good too. After all, we'll get to talk to each other every night. And you've got a plan to keep me quarantined on Earth."

Miko laughed, the last of her tears fading away. "Yeah. I guess I'll have to get started on that."

Suddenly remembering what that meant, Wheeljack put on his crossest look and pointed a finger at her. "Not until AFTER you're married."

She grinned then and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm working on that one."

Wheeljack smiled down at her, and he looked up when he noticed they were at the hangar. He glanced back to her.

"You ready, Babe?"

Miko looked to the hangar, knowing a new chapter of their life was about to unfold, and while it wasn't what she expected, it didn't seem bad. Just . . . different. She looked back up at her guardian, and she smiled.

"I'm ready."

And actually, as Wheeljack walked into the hangar, it seemed the others were waiting on him. He deposited Miko down next to the little group of humans they had come to care so much about, and his lips quirked up. He pointed at her. "Wreck'n'rule, Babe."

She mimicked the gesture. "Wreck'n'rule, Dad."

With a little salute her way, Wheeljack headed out with the others, and they stepped out onto the shining surface of Cybertron which was actually experiencing its sunrise at the same time that Earth was. Wheeljack felt his spark warm at the sight.

_Home._

And in the same moment at which he had that thought, he felt a ring in his comm. link. Stunned and puzzled, Wheeljack picked up with a, "Hello?"

"Oh, hi, Dad." Immediately, Wheeljack felt himself smile and chuckle softly to himself. "I just—well, the phone works, but I was kinda hoping it wouldn't so you'd have to come back here and fix it, so . . . Um . . . Well, good news! It works!"

This time, Wheeljack couldn't hold back his laughter. "So it does, Babe. At least you won't have to pester Ratchet."

"Yeah, well, um . . . Could you come back for a minute? I need you."

Wheeljack blinked. "What? Miko, I was just there."

"Please?" she wheedled. "Just for a moment, I need you."

He rolled his optics. "All right, Babe. I'm coming back through. Don't let the Doc shut off the bridge." Hanging up and turning around, he saluted to Optimus as he passed. "All right, gimme a second, Miko needs something." He walked through the bridge, and he found Miko on the gangway closest to the ground bridge.

He quirked a brow at her. "So? What's wrong?"

Miko gestured him closer. "Come here. I need you to look at this. My level. Right over there."

Puzzled, but willing, Wheeljack walked over to her and bent down to her height and looked in the direction she had pointed him. When he didn't see it, he asked, "All right, what am I looking for?"

Instead, she leaned up on her toes and kissed his cheek. Wheeljack reared up in surprise and look back to his human. She was blushing like crazy, but she smiled brightly up at him, saying, "Thanks, Dad. I needed a goodbye kiss, and well, now I know you'll always be there for me, and you'll come back whenever I need you."

Spark pulsing with bemusement and happiness, Wheeljack felt his soul swell with so much love for her he could have exploded. Leaning down, he nuzzled her affectionately, a bubble of laughter chasing its way out of his chassis.

_"That's my girl."_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Let me drown in my feels right now. ^-^ That quote at the very end is a quote from Bulkhead who said it in "Toxicity" when he heard that Miko had made it back safe from relic hunting. *heart* Begins with my Bulkhead, ends with my Bulkhead in spirit.**

**Also! This is NOT THE END. I repeat, it's not the end! I've got roughly a 3 part epilogue coming up to tie up loose ends (mainly the one I threw at you in this chapter... yeah, didn't see that coming, did ya? Bite me. :P ) But yes, more OHOS goodness to come, so be on the lookout! :)**

**Pummel me with angry and/or feelsy reviews! I love to hear and talk to you all!**


	68. Long Distance

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry it's been taking me so long to get stuff done! D: But on the other hand, I think you can look forward to a few more chapters than I had initially thought, because this is more than I initially expected.**

**These next chapters are basically snapchats of moments through the years, though I think this entire chapter happens within only one or two years. ^^ Thus, why it's taking so long. Regardless! I am happy to present this chapter to you all.**

**Much love to my newest favs/followers RosePastel, techna96, SterlingLilith, SpaceFerrari, Monalisarh, Hiezen, and BreakItDwn!**

**Also, oodles of love and kisses and cookies for the sweethearts who reviewed, Hiezen, Eleyond, Valforwing, SilenceSpeaksWhenWordsCan't, Miko873, Dragonstormgirl, Filly92, MajorWanderer, Azul the blue, couriosity, The Warrior of Hope, BossBot97, Sounddrive, A Fire Bending Tiger, Katie Gibbs, Starlight Prime, SunnySides, enmused, Spiritstrike, Neon, Mercedes Wolfcry, Everon Prime, Little Kunai, Zabuzas Girl, and Fanatic 97!**

***bowled over* You guys are AWESOME. Seriously, I loved reading each and every one of those reviews!**

* * *

><p>The phone rang.<p>

Again.

With a soft groan, Wheeljack found his patience being tested. "Hello?"

"Hi, Dad!" Miko's chipper voice filled his audio receptors, and while he was always glad to hear her voice, he had barely gotten anything done. "How are you doing? I've been pretty good. Jack's going to be coming to meet my parents coming up in June real soon, and he'll be touching down on the fourth and staying for two nights before he leaves again. That's nine days away! I'm so excited! He's going to love Tokyo! Hah, and we'll see who knows most about suburban areas then . . ."

Exasperated and unwillingly a willing listener, Wheeljack finally managed to edge in the words, "Miko, it's been three days." A dozen phone calls in three days.

"And it's been a LONG three days. I miss you! Dad's been breathing down my neck and I have to get a summer job now since I'm old enough. It's going to suck. And apparently my English isn't up to par for him even though I've been LIVING in America for longer than he's ever been there, so he's hired a tutor for me this summer. A TUTOR for the SUMMER, Wheeljack. I hate doing homework in the summer!"

Wheeljack's cognitive patterns stalled. "What's wrong with your English?"

"According to my father, my vocabulary is lacking, I don't pronounce some words correctly, and my use of slang is ABHORRENT."

"Just amuse him, Babe. Your English scores were your highest scores, so you have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, well, with him, there's ALWAYS something to worry about . . ."

Wheeljack looked up from the hallway he stood in when Smokescreen poked his helm around the corner. "Come on, Wheeljack!" he hollered to him. "We're waiting on you, and you know Bumblebee would hate for you to be late! And now, since he can talk again, you KNOW you won't hear the end of it!"

Wheeljack nodded and waved him off. "Hey, Babe? I hate to cut this conversation short, but Bumblebee's ceremony is about to start, and I've gotta get my tin can out there."

"Oooh!" She squealed in his audios. "He's getting promoted to warrior class, right? Record it! I want to see it!"

Wheeljack gave a warm laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure you'll want to listen to Optimus drone on . . . But don't you worry. There's a surprise explosive at the end that'll sure bring a grin to your face."

"I'm counting on it!"

* * *

><p><em>"Hey. Sorry, Babe. I know you can't reach me right now since I'm chasing after that All Spark, but here's a nice long message for you since I'm going to be gone for so long. First of all, Ratchet pitched one of his hissy fits that Optimus was going to take me into deep space where my spark could 'potentially' have a fit. That Doc . . . Worries worse than Mrs. Davis. My spark's been just fine. Second, Optimus didn't really leave me that much room for refusal to his request. And I really couldn't; but know that in the end, Cybertron's going to be filled with life again. And I've gotta admit, I'm real excited for that, Babe.<em>

_ "Know that, while I'm off gallivanting in space that I miss you very much and that I'll be ready to return as quickly as I can to hear your voice again. In the meantime, I'll worry about all the possible things that could go wrong in my absence, that I won't be there to support you, and try to figure out what you'll need to hear the most._

_ First of all, if Jack dumps you, dump him. If he ever decides that you aren't good enough for him, he's a prick, and you can be sure I'll crush his little bike he pedals around on and make sure he gets the wrath of an angry papa. You deserve far better than what he could ever give you. You deserve respect, loyalty, cherishment, and contentment. True love is the best remedy, Miko, and you'll find it if you're patient. In the meantime, don't let anything he ever said or did hurt you. You're stronger than that, and I know you'll never give him the pleasure. You're my wrecking Babe, so keep your chin up and your eyes clear of tears. There's no need to cry over him when you're blessed with so much, and know that no boy's love will ever compare to how much I love you. But if he comes trying to crawl back, you sock a solid punch right on his eye so that he'll wear that black eye for weeks._

_ . . . And if nothing's wrong between you and Jack, never mind all of that. You know I like the boy._

_ Anyway. I know you're feeling the pressure now that you're back with your biological father. But no matter what he says that hurts you, Miko, know that it doesn't carry a grain of truth in it. You know now that he's manipulated your heart and mind and abused your emotions, and I don't want you to fall back into that circle again. Be strong. You are my sweetspark, and nothing can ever separate you from me, even the many light years of space. We are connected by our bond, and I want you to look to your heart right now, close your eyes, and stretch your heart out. Stretch far. Press your soul as if you were trying to shove it from your own ribcage, and reach into the expanse of space where I am hidden inside. Open your eyes and look up to the stars at night; know that even though you can't see me, I feel the pain and worry you might feel, and I pray that you can feel the reassurance, strength, and love that I send back to you. Persevere, Miko, and allow no one to intimidate you without your consent. Do not allow anyone, including your biological father, to crush your dreams, hurt your feelings, or make you feel inferior in any way. You are beautiful and perfect, and you are growing into a fine, strong young woman. Know that your father is very proud of you, and always will be, no matter the path in life you choose._

_ Ahem—Well. So, there's that. I, um . . . I've been talking for a while now. I know that you can tackle any problem coming your way, Miko. Just be strong and valiant, as I know you are. And if you're sick or have a period, I promise not to tell Ratchet._

_ Heh . . . Rest well, Miko. A peaceful sleep is the first step to a successful, happy day. So as you lay down to rest at the end of your day, I want you to crawl in bed, pull the covers all the way up to your chin, and close your eyes . . . Now. Listen._

_ *thump . . . thump . . . thump . . .*_

_ That's the sound of my spark. I apologize if any of the electrical static created a static over the phone, but . . . Know that within my spark, that is where I keep you. You are a balm to my soul and my strength when I am weak. You are my daughter, and I am proud to claim you as my own. I love you very much, Miko. And don't you ever forget it._

_ Sleep well, and pleasant dreams."_

His gruff voice finally ceased as the voice machine ended. The pink flip phone shut with a small clap in the darkness of her room. She placed it on her chest, above her heart, and she gave one long sigh, curling deeper into the covers.

"Thanks, Dad."

* * *

><p>"Optimus?"<p>

He kissed her before she could say anything that night. His lips were rough, edged with ardor that ran rampant through him, and his arms dragged her close, pressing her close for comfort. It had been a long day, strenuous both physically and emotionally, and he sought the solace of her arms to shield him.

He finally broke the inflamed kiss with a sharp gasp, trembling. Closing his optics, he pressed his helm against her. Her servos reached up, thumbs wiping away the optic lubricant he had shed in his passion.

"Optimus, what's wrong?"

A bewildered, relieved, and exhausted laugh spilled from his lips. Cupping Elita's cheeks gently with his servos, he shook his head, managing, "No—No, everything is far from wrong, my love. I just . . . I never thought . . . Never believed I would see this day . . ."

One of her delicate servos touched the front of his chassis, feeling his embroiled spark beating rapidly behind its chamber doors. "What happened?"

Azure optics fused into hers. His servos shook in wonder, and he whispered the words he hardly dared to believe himself.

"Megatron disbanded the Decepticons. After all this time, Elita, his spark has changed. For the better. And after all of these years . . ." Something almost visibly cracked in his soul. "I have never felt such joy to know that my brother has finally come home."

He kissed her again, servos shaking as they stroked her cheeks. They parted, Elita smiling, simply happy to be near Optimus and share in this moment with him. Yet still, her spark hurt slightly watching him trying to bear the strength of joy that his spark was trying to process; it was like he didn't even know how to handle the positive emotion anymore. One of her servos rested on her spark chamber where her sparkling was ever so slowly growing. She would be sure to fill his life with as much joy as she possibly could.

"I don't know how or why he chose to change his mind now of all times," Optimus continued with a shake of his helm, "but nonetheless, I am thankful. I don't know if it was something I said or did—but no, it can't have been anything I said or did, because we know after all these millennia of fighting, nothing I could have said or done would have changed his mind. It had to be Unicron. No—It had to be Megatron. Only Megatron himself could have chosen to change himself. He must have come to some sort of closure in his own processor—"

With a gentle smile, Elita had to interrupt. "Optimus! Listen to yourself, you're rambling!"

"And how could I not ramble?" he said back. His servos tightened on her cheeks, exhilaration flowing freely through his circuits even as his optics filled with lubricant. "Elita, my best friend has just turned away from his evil ways, Cybertron is alive and at peace, my brother is still alive, we have the All Spark, I am mated to the most beautiful and wonderful femme alive, and we are having a sparkling—Elita, I am filled with so much happiness right now that I can't contain it!"

He kissed her in reckless abandon again, dipping her backwards as he ravished her lips. He wept tears of relief and sorrow he had kept held at bay all the years, and yet they were tears of happiness that he couldn't contain any longer as he alternately laughed and cried with wonder.

* * *

><p><em>"Optimus, please . . . I'm terrified."<em>

_ "I know, Elita." One of his servos cupped her cheek tenderly as he felt the turmoil ravaging her spark. "You must trust me."_

_ "What if it doesn't work? What if you can't separate your spark from the rest of the sparks in the All Spark?"_

_ "I will," he stated firmly, and he punctuated his promise with a steady kiss to her lips. "You can still feel me . . . Hang on to me. Don't let me go, and I promise, I will never let you go."_

_ "I won't," she promised through her tears. "I will never let you go."_

When he finished his speech, Elita knew the time had come. However, when she saw his wings transform open, she cried out, "Optimus, wait!"

He turned as she scrambled up next to him, and heedless of the Autobots below, she grabbed his chassis and kissed him hard, edged with razor-sharp passion and devastating cherishment. His servos moved of their own accord, one supporting and lifting her back so she was closer to him and the other ghosting over her jaw line. His mouth molded to hers, drowning in her kiss she demanded from him.

They parted, both intakes uneven. Her fingers gripped him even tighter. "Come back to me," she whispered almost inaudibly.

"I will," he murmured without hesitation.

With tenuous control, Elita stepped back from Optimus. His fingers dragged lovingly across her cheek to keep the contact as long as possible, but finally he turned. And he took off. Spark rate spiking, Elita ran up to the edge of the Well of All Sparks to look down and watch as he flew out of sight. For a long moment, time seemed to stretch for an eternity as she held her spark in her throat, trembling at the mouth of the Well.

She felt him draining . . . draining . . . He seemed to get further away in mere seconds than she had ever felt his spark wan before—but she held. She held to the connection stubbornly and desperately, feeling an echoing pull from his brother trying to keep his spark with them. He grew faint, and weak.

Elita gasped and reeled back several steps as the Well erupted with light. Sparks flew like the dewdrops of a rainbow, spreading far over Cybertron. The brilliant flash of colors nearly blinded her as iridescence rushed by with the vivacity of life. The scintillating glow overwhelmed her.

And a far whisper in her spark . . . a familiar presence.

Her servos trembled as she pressed them to her chassis in the effort to still her sputtering spark. "I feel him . . . I feel him! Optimus—!"

With a relieved, delighted laugh, Elita felt her ankles wobble, and she had just enough sense to catch herself before she fell. She whirled around to Ultra Magnus, laughed, and skipped down to her brother-in-spark to give him a gentle hug, wary of his wounds.

"Ultra Magnus, he's alive! He's alive! You feel him too?"

His servos squeezed hers tightly. "I most certainly can," he rumbled, optics bright.

A general celebration went up. With their joy, they were blind. It took the most cynical of them to stare at the Well in doubt.

"I hardly mean to be the bearer of bad news, m'lady," Prowl finally intoned softly as he looked with crippling fear at the lively Well, "but shouldn't Optimus be here by now?"

Every helm snapped towards the offender, and then to the Well. Elita glared at him. "I know he's alive, Prowl, I can feel it in my spark. Just because it might take him a minute to get out means nothing."

"Maybe one of us should go down there?" Smokescreen suggested. "Well, I mean, if he needs help getting out . . ."

"He has a jetpack," Prowl reminded him.

Fed up with it already, Elita reached out through her spark. _Are you there, love?_

She was met with deep confusion. _Yes, I am here . . . Give me a second, I'm climbing._

Elita blinked. "He says he's climbing."

There was a long pause. "Climbing?" Ratchet finally repeated.

"Climbing," she informed them again. "I . . ."

"That's peculiar," Ultra Magnus finally voiced for them all.

Before another word could be said, Bumblebee pointed. "Look!"

A hand grabbed the outer edge of the Well of All Sparks. Then, another materialized along with an arm, and Elita felt her spark still. With a heaving groan, he pulled himself up with a great deal of effort, taxed by the steep climb and use of joints he rarely used as a librarian. His helm emerged, and blue optics blinked at the assortment of mechs and femmes in front of him. His optics sought the pink one he knew once upon a dream.

They stared at one another. He was . . . so small, once again. She felt like it had been an eternity since she had seen his frame like this, unassuming, gentle, and with the decorative biolights customary to Cybertronians. He likewise stared back, half in and half out of the well, marveling at the femme before him. He knew his spark mate when he saw her. But oh, did he not know her. Her armor had changed. It was so much more aggressive, so toned and honed for war, and . . . so DANGEROUSLY sexy. He felt himself falling in love all over again, and he could hardly get his vocalizer to utter a word.

Elita's spark clotted her throat.

"Orion?"

He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"Ariel?"

He cracked the ice. Mystified and ecstatic, Elita threw back her helm and laughed. The mech at the mouth of the Well smiled hearing that so familiar laugh, and he quickly drew himself to a standing position. Before he could approach her close, she had already ran to him and thrown her arms around his neck laughing gaily.

"Oh, Orion—! Optimus—! ORION PAX!"

Before Orion could come up with an answer to her enthusiasm, Elita had planted a big kiss on his mouth, catching him off guard with the sheer amount of passion she poured into him. With an unsteady gasp, Orion accidentally opened his mouth and her glossia dived into his mouth, so relieved to have him back that she overpowered her lover that didn't have the experience he used to have. He broke away first, face flushed hot and servos shaking with wide optics.

"A-Ariel! There are others present—not so bold!"

Elita couldn't stop laughing. Completely beside herself, Elita threw her arms around his neck and sank against him, letting him catch her. She buried her face into his chassis, beyond coherence.

Orion helplessly looked to the others present, and he recognized only two. "Ratchet? Ultra Magnus? What is going on?"

Finally, just as stunned as the rest, Ratchet felt his face pulling into a disbelieving smile as he offered up the explanation everyone needed. "The Matrix," he finally mustered, shaking his head. "He had used the Matrix as a vessel to hold the energies of the All Spark. His spark was mixed in with the rest, but Ultra Magnus and Elita's bond forcibly held his spark back from leaving his own body. But with the energies of the All Spark went the energies of the Matrix . . . and without the Matrix . . ."

"All his memories are gone!" Bumblebee squealed, alternately delighted at the outcome and horrified that Optimus didn't remember him again.

Ratchet waved his servo at the scout-turned-warrior's tone. "Nonsense, it's an easy fix, as we've seen demonstrated earlier."

Elita popped up immediately from his shoulder, optics round as saucers. "Orion, we need to interface. Now."

Orion flushed a bright shade of red and cleared his throat conspicuously, thinking of the last time he had made love to her, the first time, when they had consummated their relationship. He felt his frame heat at the very thought. "I—I think I need first to receive some information about what is going on right now. Like—why was the Well suddenly so active? Ultra Magnus, what happened; why are you hurt? Who is everyone assembled here, and—" His optics widened in a great deal of alarm as his optics finally scoured the landscape around them. "Great Cybertron, what has happened! Where are all of the people? Who's ship crashed here?"

"Orion." The firm stating of his name brought his attention to his older brother. Ultra Magnus nodded his helm towards Elita. "Quit worrying. Everything will be explained in time. For now, you should listen to your spark mate."

Orion gaped. "What? But . . ."

Before he could get himself too worked up, Elita quickly turned his face back to her. "Orion, a great deal of time has passed, and you are experiencing amnesia," she informed him. He listened, snared by the leadership in her voice. He had never had the strength and conviction she was exhibiting right now, to be a leader. He was more and more impressed by her every day. "As your spark mate, you've shared all of your memories with me. The quickest way for you to regain all the memories you've forgotten is . . ." Sensitive of the modesty he had, Elita leaned forward and murmured in his audio, "is to interface and connect our sparks again. So I ask you again, Orion Pax. Come to our chambers, and make love to me as you did the first time so that you may be enlightened to the wonderful, powerful, great person you truly are."

His throat worked visibly. He leaned down ever so slightly to her audio receptor, and his deep voice husked, "When you put it like that, how could I ever refuse?"

A tiny tremble chased up her back. Oh yes. He still had it. He always had that power over her, both present, past, and future. Shuddering in an uneven breath, Elita took his servo and led him away from the group.

"I warn you though," she said softly. She threw a fleeting glance over her shoulder at the Autobots that watched them go. "You'll meet many great Cybertronians, and you'll see the very best and worst of some of them." She glanced up at him. "You'll see a lot of them die."

Though a shadow crossed over his optics, Orion nodded. "I understand . . . Ariel, war . . . There's war brewing."

She squeezed his servo. "Yes . . . War happened."

He looked over the expanse of Cybertron as they walked to the ship for privacy. "War ravaged this planet," he said softly, gathering at what she was hinting at. His jaw tightened. "Ariel, how long has it been?"

She hesitated to tell him, afraid he would be overwhelmed with the thought, but she knew she had to. "Four millennia," she replied gently.

A tight vent seized and escaped him. "Four millennia," he rasped. His servo nearly crushed hers as he looked across the expanse of Cybertron again. "War has raged for four millennia . . ."

Stopping, Elita tugged Orion's servo. "Orion, look at me." Those crystal blue optics focused in on her, magnificent in their intensity that would always leave her breathless. She placed her palm on his cheek. "For four millennia, you have lived as a great mech. But during this time, you have both made and lost friends dear to you. You have done great things, and you have made mistakes. There have been winsome times and despairing times, pressure, stress, and the deepening of our relationship both physically and emotionally. We have stood together, and even in our separation, we stood strong. Know that you cannot change anything that has transpired, but always look to the future for change. For hope."

Unconsciously, Orion's optics flicked back towards the group before they settled on her again. "Where is Megatronus?" he asked.

When she didn't answer, she watched as misgivings shadowed his optics. "Ariel," he rasped, servos nearly crushing hers, "where is Megatronus? What happened to him?"

Her thumb stroked his cheek soothingly. "You warred against each other," she admitted on a whisper. "He led the Decepticons in uprising; named Prime, you led the Autobots in defense."

She watched something crack in his soul. She didn't want to watch the pain he suffered as he came to grips with these events all over again. But she knew she had to face these problems with him again, and she knew she would, gladly. She loved him, and while life was both happiness and sorrow, it was only with both that it was made worth the living.

"Megatronus . . . Is he . . . ?"

"No," Elita replied with a soft smile. "He's very much alive, and dare I say, I believe there is hope for a happy ending to all of this yet."

Orion's darkened optics looked at her, and the hope she was so used to seeing in his optics surfaced. "There is? How so? What happened?"

She smiled and took his servos in hers, pulling him along. "Allow me to show you . . ."

Her husky tone must have warmed his energon. Without warning, Elita suddenly felt herself swept into the past as Orion lifted her off her peds and carried her bridal style towards the ship and kissed her with the edge of passion only youth could hold that was reckless with its abandon and lusting for more and more, almost unable to be satiated. He drew a moan up from the depths of her spark, and he growled hungrily, panting for more.

"Show me, Ariel," he demanded, passion spreading over their circuits. He kissed her lips, cheeks, optics, nose, audios, and her antenna relentlessly, filled with youthful impatience. "Show me who I am, for if I still have you after four millennia, then my life truly was worth living."

* * *

><p>"Wheeljack! They liked him!"<p>

Wincing at the volume of Miko's voice in his audios, Wheeljack gave a laugh as he poured over blueprints and gave a wide grin over the telephone. "See, Babe? Nothing to it! I told you that boy had some ball bearings in him!"

Her voice squeaked. "They really liked him!" she hooted again above a background din of the hustle and bustle of Tokyo. "I mean, it's not like Dad's given him a green light, they're glad he's got a job and savings even though it's not a great one, but Jack told them about joining the military, and my dad seemed to like that. Uncle Lee REALLY liked Jack a lot which influenced my dad's decision. Oh! And my mom? She noticed that thing you guys notice about Jack being like Optimus when he was younger, and she was all for him even though she didn't talk much. I could see it on her face. She likes him a lot—I know, I know, Jack! Quiet! I'm telling it! Jack did good too, really respectful, knew the rules of the house, and he . . ."

Contentedly, Wheeljack listened to her prattle on in his audio receptors while he did his work, interjecting when he could and laughing with her when she struggled to put the phone on speaker for Jack to talk too. And as he holographically moved the buildings of Cybertron around on the map, he couldn't help but noticed that the look and pattern of them wasn't a purely Cybertronian style, but rather it carried the influence of Earth.

His spark absently yearned for the past. If only Bulkhead were here . . . That Wrecker was always so good with construction. His leadership would have helped fill up the role that was lacking; Wheeljack wasn't the best with construction, but he was Optimus' best bet.

"Twenty-eight days until my birthday," Miko was saying, "so there's only that many days until we get to see each other again!" She squealed. "I'm so excited, Jackie!"

His spark warmed at the mere thought. Twice a year he was sent back for two weeks. Christmas, and her birthday, though he was scheming with her to get more than that.

"You bet I'm excited," he said back, and involuntary smile splitting his lip plates. "You're gonna pop rivets when you see what I've got for you for your birthday."

"Aww, Jackie, you're present enough!"

* * *

><p>"You're gonna kill me, Babe, but . . . You're turning into a fine young lady."<p>

Miko rolled her eyes as she pulled her ever pink and black hair up into a loose bun. "Please don't get all sappy on me, Wheeljack, my mom's already bad enough."

Her dress was purple, thigh high, and bedazzled with just enough studs to make it glitter a little. Sleeveless and pockets at the hips, she had it topped off with strappy black heels of a modest height. Wheeljack still couldn't believe how she was growing up. Heels instead of combat boots? What one measly year could do to the child . . .

Come to think of it, Wheeljack wasn't sure if he approved of her growing up.

"Only a little sappy," he said conversationally, holoform sitting on her bed and watching her struggle with her hair. "You're growing up on me. And you're getting too pretty."

"I know. And my boobs are getting too big too."

Wheeljack rolled his eyes. "Miko—"

"Well they are!" she said defensively. "If I get into a D cup I am going to be ANGRY. I already have to flatten them out with sport bras! I should have just stayed a B cup forever. Or an A cup. Yeah, that'd be better."

"Getting off the topic of your mammaries," Wheeljack said with a grimace, "surely . . . surely there's something else we can talk about. I know you haven't worn out all you want to talk to me about. How's the boy?"

"The boy is fine," Miko said while rolling her eyes, at Wheeljack's struggle. "How about you? Is the femme fine?"

His throat fused. He couldn't choke out a lie. "I'm sure you'll want to hear all the details about that," he finally mustered up.

Since her back was to him at her dresser, he only saw her wrinkled expression through the mirror. "Ew. All right, keep the details to yourself, that's all I needed to know." Then, she grinned and looked at him. "So? How are Mrs. Elita and Mr. Orion Pax doing?"

Wheeljack felt his lips twitch at the pointed way Miko popped the "p" on Pax. "Fantastic, as usual. There's rarely a disagreement in their relationship."

"And the sparkling?"

"Completely healthy, much to Ratchet's delight. She's having a mech."

She squealed. "Aww, a little baby boy!"

"Yeah. They've been looking for a name for him religiously."

Sticking her earrings in her ears, Miko waggled her brows at him through the mirror. "So? Is Optimus anything like Optimus when he's Orion?"

Wheeljack chuckled and stretched his legs out on her bed, resting back on the pillows. "Of course he is. He's still the same person."

"Yeah, but he's not PRIME. What's he like, Wheeljack? C'mon!"

Laughing warmly, Wheeljack acquiesced, "Well, he's certainly got more facial expressions. He's not so stoic and uptight." He paused. "He laughs."

Miko whirled around on her stool, staring at him. "He laughs," she repeated.

Wheeljack's lips grinned. He crossed his ankles and closed his optics. "Yeah. One of those really deep laughs, yeah? Handsome enough for me to admit it's handsome."

"Oooh, it must be REALLY handsome then."

He smirked. "Maybe I'll make it a ringtone for you."

"Please do."

Wheeljack sat up, resting an elbow on his knee as he watched her fiddle over herself again. "He laughs. He chats. He's a lot more curious, too. He asks a whole lot more questions now that he's not pressured to have all the answers."

"That's good," Miko said, glossing her lips one more time just to be certain. "I bet being a leader was stifling." She twirled towards him, and her hands gave a vague gesture to herself. "So? What do you think? Are you sure I look all right?"

His lips curled up as he gazed at her. Primus, she was growing up so fast. "Beautiful like always, Miko," he said to her, causing a pleased blush to color her features. He stood up while raking a servo through his hair. "Now, c'mon. Someone's late for her date."

She laughed, grabbing her purse as she went. "Thanks, Dad!" and she planted a kiss on his cheek before she went racing down the stairs.

Wheeljack felt the throat of his holoform work. A kiss, right? He was going to have to get his holoform upgraded, stat. He just wished he had more time to sink into his project yet . . .

But he was stubbornly determined to touch Miko with his own skin.


	69. Practically a Lady

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry these have been taking me a bit longer. ^^ I've been having some sort of writer's block, I think.**

**LOTS OF HAPPIES. We need lots of happies.**

**Show some love to my new fav/follwers NightProwlerX, Mitzvah Rose, BlazedStarbon, Island-Girl97, mjdiva77, fear4everleading, Steel autobot, dancesontrains, and Words Infinity!**

**Milk and cookies for all my lovely reviewers dancesontrains, Miko873, Starlight Prime, A Fire Bending Tiger, BossBot97, Autobot Chromia, Kuurankukka, enmused, Spiritstrike, Neon, SunnySides, Katie Gibbs, Zabuzas Girl, The Warrior of Hope, couriosity, Little Kunai, Fanatic97, and Sounddrive! You beautiful people you. :) Reviews are love! Enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

><p>The door to Wheeljack's lab whizzed open, and a bright eyed Smokescreen came skidding in. He grinned.<p>

"Guess what?"

Wheeljack glowered at him. "I swear to Primus, Smokescreen, if this is another prank that got one of the miner Vehicons hurt and I'M the one patching up your mess, I will rip your servos from your body—"

"Oh shut up, I didn't do anything! Besides, we've got more interesting things happening! A ship's come in, Wheeljack! We've got our first refugees coming in!"

His optics rounded. "What? You're kidding me."

Smokescreen's grin threatened to split his face open. "I'm not kidding."

Wheeljack began to laugh. Standing from his temporary desk in the _NEMESIS,_ Wheeljack shook his head, saying again, "No. You're kidding me, Smokes, you've gotta be kidding me!" He vaulted over the table and grabbed the stupidly smirking rookie, and Smokescreen yelped when he gave him a noogie. "C'mon, fess it up! Who's here? Autobots? Neutrals? Surrendering 'Cons? Who is it?"

"I don't know!" Smokescreen squawked, and Wheeljack let him slip from his grip. "But Prowl's out there right now, about to welcome them back! They'd docking right now!" Then, Smokescreen grinned, blue optics sparking. "I'll race you there."

Wheeljack smirked. "Oh, you're going to regret that one!"

Both mechs bolted at once, Smokescreen making it out of the room first since he was closer to the door, and the two sport cars transformed in the hallway and gunned it, tires squealing and rubber burning the floor.

Revving engines echoed their way down the hallways as the two bots tore through the halls of the NEMESIS. Smokescreen howled in excitement as Wheeljack tailed him close, engaged in the prospect of finding someone who would race him. Wheeljack's engine growled and roared in response. If there was one hidden talent Wheeljack didn't get to flaunt that much, it was that he was a killer racer!

Tires squealing, Wheeljack braked and sharply turned, taking a different hallway. He floored it again, taking a separate route from Smokescreen. The kid was a fool. He'd have to watch out for the Vehicons going that way. Here, Wheeljack had a straight shot.

Drifting widely around a bend and shooting for the open gangway, Wheeljack skidded by a surprised Elita who jumped back to avoid him, and Wheeljack screeched into the opening just as Smokescreen slammed on his breaks behind him to avoid a fender bender.

Wheeljack howled in triumph as he drove out at a screaming speed from the NEMESIS. Smokescreen was shouting behind him in indignation, but it was all over. There was no way the kid could recover from that! Up ahead, he could see Prowl and Orion standing at the recently constructed landing pad, and Wheeljack gunned it as the ship in question lowered, its landing gear activating. With a wild hoot, Wheeljack slammed on the breaks and transformed up, whirling around with a smacking grin at Smokescreen.

"Victory is mine!" he hollered, pumping his fists in the air. Smokescreen transformed, and Wheeljack ignored his excuses, patting him on the back. "Maybe next time, kid!"

An annoyed vent gusted from Prowl's body. "If you would please," Prowl said to them, "be somewhat poised and respectable to our refugees? I would hate for their first impression of a peaceful Cybertron-"

"To be what?" Wheeljack interrupted with an elbow in his side. The drop to the ship opened up as the engines idled. "Happy bots that can have a fun race again?"

His wings tensed up. "To be frivolous, incompetent behavior."

Wheeljack laughed. He clapped a servo on Prowl's shoulder. "Lighten up, Prowl! The world's at peace!"

Turning their attentions toward the gangway, a shorter Cybertronian all but skipped down the steps. His gaze focused in on one bot, and from behind his visor, a shining grin broke free.

"PROWLER!"

Wheeljack blinked and stepped back as a blur of black and white darted across the open and, no lying, full out TACKLED Prowl. The bot in question's optics popped open wide, too stunned to really try and defend himself as he was nearly violently hugged.

"Prowler, of course your ol' stick in the mud managed to survive! Y'know how happy I am to see you, man?" He sat up on top of him, looking him in his face, and Jazz somehow managed to smile even more. "Now would ya look at that? Prowler, I have t' say, I've always looked better with a visor than you did!" He leaned back down, thumbs opening Prowl's lids wider. "Fully functioning optics! The world really is at peace!"

To the shock of the bots amassed, Prowl didn't get angry. In fact, if one looked closely, one could almost say that the edge of his mouth twitched. "Jazz," he said as seriously as he could, "please, get off of me."

"Aw, shucks, at least act a LITTLE happy to see me, Prowl!" Jazz laughed, long, loud and handsome. He lightly used Prowl's chassis as a punching bag. "Ol' Bucket Head finally kicked the bucket! Cybertron's alive, at peace, and now I'm here, so the party can really get started!" With a playful growl, Jazz quickly manhandled Prowl—who gave a shout—and got him in a headlock. He gave the stringent officer a noogie, demanding, "C'mon, Prowler! Say you missed me! Say it!"

Prowl was adamantly fighting, but his stoic expression was slipping. A grin began to curve the edge of his lips against his will. "All right! I missed you, Jazz, now let me up, this is highly undignified!"

Jazz threw back his helm and laughed again, but he obediently allowed Prowl up, extending a servo to him. He also gave a salute to Orion. "Reporting for duty, Optimus. By the way, have you always been that short, or are my optics trickin' me?"

Before Orion could grace that with a response, a deeper voice rumbled out, "Well, don't spare any hellos for us. We don't need 'em."

Wheeljack's helm snapped towards the ship so quickly he could have broken his neck. His optics rounded, and his jaw sagged open. "No way. SPRINGER?"

The Wrecker grinned, and he waved a servo. "Now what are you doing way over there? I don't get a hug like Jazz got one? Get your blinkin' behind over here, Blinky!"

With an ecstatic hoot, Wheeljack bounded across the way and let the green bot grab him, hefting him up easily with his bigger size. Wheeljack laughed as he was crushed in a hug.

"Blinky, you don't know how happy I am to see your pasty-white behind! I was beginning to think I was the only Wrecker left!

"You're not!" Wheeljack said with a laugh, trying to blink away the suspicious stinging of his optics before anyone saw. Springer finally put him down, and Wheeljack grinned, jerking a thumb back towards the NEMESIS. "You wouldn't believe what tight-afted commander managed to make it through this mess too!"

Springer bellowed with laughter. "You mean ol' Mags is alive too? This day just gets better and better!"

Wheeljack glanced over, hearing another voice that was speaking to Orion, and his optics popped as he saw the last member the ship held. He was small, red, and Wheeljack felt his spark start as a million ideas began to fall through his processor.

Primus, this was PERFECT.

With a laugh at his stroke of good luck, Wheeljack bounded over, and he heard him saying with a tight smile, "It's always a warmer welcome for those who have friends waiting on them—" Wheeljack scooped up the unassuming bot, and he let out a yelp of surprise when Wheeljack hugged him. "You beautiful, beautiful bot, Perceptor! This is perfect! Oh man, if Primus hasn't blessed me today!"

Perceptor shrugged off Wheeljack as quickly as he could, not so friendly with the bot he barely knew. "I—Thank you, I suppose. I—"

Wheeljack cupped both servos on his cheeks, making the bot's lips pucker up on a scrunch. "You BEAUTIFUL scientist you. Perfect! Absolutely perfect!" Before Perceptor could respond, Wheeljack threw his arm around his shoulder and turned him towards the city. "Look around you, Perceptor! Cybertron! She's alive and well, and in need of rebuilding!"

Awkwardly, Perceptor leaned away a little, giving Wheeljack a dubious look. "Yes, I can see that. I—"

"Well, guess what?" Wheeljack grinned at him. "It's yours! It's all yours! She's yours to rebuild, she's yours to construct, you're in charge!" Wildly, Wheeljack's bright optics looked towards Orion, and he asked as an afterthought, "I can do that, right? I can make him head scientist?"

Orion's optics warmed, and a small smile played at his lips. "That is, if Perceptor accepts."

Confused as he could possibly be, Perceptor stammered out, "W-Well, yes, I accept, but—"

"That's perfect, Perceptor! Argh, I could kiss you I'm so excited!" Wheeljack hugged the bot again before letting go and whooping, "All right, all right, all right! Springer! Springer, you've got to come with me!"

"With you?" Springer repeated, becoming just as confused as Perceptor was. "But I just got here!"

Wheeljack waved his servos. "Aw, Cybertron can wait! She'll be here when you get back! Maybe a year? However long you want to stay! It doesn't matter!"

"WHERE am I going?" Springer stressed again, but he didn't fight when Wheeljack took his servo and dragged him towards the NEMESIS.

"Going? Where are you going?" Wheeljack threw back his helm and laughed, spark crackling in such excitement he was sure he'd explode. "To see my Wrecking babe, of course! You get to come to Earth with me!" He hooted again, pumping his fists.

"I'm coming home, Miko!"

* * *

><p>He had never heard her scream the way she did when she saw him that afternoon.<p>

"DADDY!"

Transforming, heedless of who might see him, Wheeljack laughed and scooped her up to his chassis, tickling her. She squealed and shrieked before he transformed back down, plopping her down in his front seat. Miko laughed and laughed, and she practically threw herself on his dash in a mock form of a hug.

"WHEELJACK! I didn't expect to see you so soon! What are you doing back on Earth? I thought—"

"Change of plans, Babe!" he laughed, revving his engine. "I'm here on Earth! To stay!"

Miko popped up, her caramel brown eyes widening ten times over. "You ARE? For good?"

"For as long as I want!" he hollered, and she screeched again.

"WHEELJACK!"

She did some sort of a happy-dance/stamping her feet before flinging herself over his dash again, squealing at the pitch he had never heard from her before. Wheeljack laughed, and he threw himself in reverse, saying to his companion, "C'mon, Springer! Let's blow this city and get to where we can be comfortable!"

Miko popped up again, eyes rounding as she looked back on the green vehicle behind them. "Wait a minute, SPRINGER?" A broad grin split her features. "You mean—"

"My wrecking Springer!" Wheeljack hollered, gunning it through the less populated roads of Tokyo before he knew he would be stuck in traffic for forever.

"Springer's alive?" Miko squeaked.

"Springer's alive!"

Miko hooted, pumping up both fists while Wheeljack strapped her in for safety's sake. "You wanna know something else awesome?" Miko burst.

"What?"

"I'M GOING BACK TO THE UNITED STATES NEXT SCHOOL YEAR!"

Wheeljack laughed again, engine revving in his excitement. "Atta girl, Babe! Proud of my little trooper!"

"Yeah!" Miko squeaked. "James decided he wanted to come back to Tokyo, and it's all getting arranged! I'm gonna be back with Mrs. Davis!"

"That's fantastic, Babe!" Wheeljack tightened her seat belt, finding that the interstate wasn't so bad this time, in Tokyo. It was still going to be a long drive to find somewhere they could transform, but it was going to be worth it. "Hah, but I bet more importantly that you'll be back with Jack, am I right?"

Miko blushed sky high, but she grinned ruefully too. "Well, we ARE dating, Wheeljack."

He chuckled deeply, saying, "I'm sure."

Miko suddenly popped up in her seat, and she grinned, crossing her arms. "So? How'd you manage to get to stay on Earth? When did Springer get here? Will we get to see that cranky ol' Ratchet again, too?"

Wheeljack snickered. "Easy there, Babe! One at a time! And what was that last one I heard? Is someone missing RATCHET of all bots?" He gasped as if he had been let in on a tremendous secret. "I'll be sure to pass along the word!"

"Oh no you don't," she said, pointing her finger. "He'd NEVER let me live that one down, Jackie, NEVER! He'd use it as blackmail!"

"Oh, c'mon, Babe, even the ol' Doc needs to know when he's missed!" Wheeljack chortled, metal rattling as he tried to hold back his laughter. "And Springer just got here yesterday!"

"Yesterday?" Miko gasped. "But wouldn't he want to stay on Cybertron? He just got back!"

"Cybertron's not going anywhere, Babe," Wheeljack said, rear view mirrors twitching. "Besides, once I told him about you, he was adamant about meeting you! If a measly little human can make such a big impact on my life, he's got to meet her, right? Besides, my little girl's gotta meet more of my Wrecking troop!"

He always noticed the little blush of pride she got and the confident little hitch of her chin whenever he called her his little girl. He'd have to do it more often. "That's right! They've got to meet the most important one! But—Oh Wheeljack, FOREVER? You can just STAY?"

"Sure can!" Wheeljack laughed, changing lanes. Springer followed close behind, probably a little worried about getting lost and stranded on a strange organic world. "Springer arrived with a bot named Perceptor! See, Perceptor's a scientist like myself, and he was more than happy to get to work on Cybertron, so he took my job! Miko, I'm free to stay here as long as I want!"

"As long as you want?" she squeaked, heart rate jumping.

"As long as I want!"

She squealed again, covering her face, scrunching up, and rocking from side to side. "WHEELJACK!"

"And to top off the icing on the cake," Wheeljack laughed, "ol' Prowler's found himself his boyfriend! Jazz came back too!"

"Aww, even Prowl gets himself a friend! Isn't that cute?"

Miko and Wheeljack dissolved into child-like giggles, laughing at the expense of the police car once again. A burst of static came from the radio, and then a mildly amused voice cut in.

"Well, I can tell you two are having fun if the amount of laughter I'm hearing is any indication."

Miko sat bolt upright in her seat. "Oh my gosh, Wheeljack, is that Springer?"

Before her guardian could respond, his voice said, "Sure is me. I take it you're Miko?"

Miko squealed, and she slapped the top of Wheeljack's dash. "Why didn't you TELL me that we could talk to him over your comm. link? Wheeljack, c'mon!" She banged a couple more times on his dash in excited frustration before saying, "Yeah, I'm Miko! I'm Wheeljack's number one wrecking girl, and don't you forget it!"

Warm laughter spilled over the comm.. "I'll be sure to remember that one," Springer said, and if his tone was any indication, he had already taken a shine to her. "When we get somewhere with less humans, we'll have to catch up, eh?"  
>Miko finally set back in her seat with a sigh, her adrenaline finally wearing off. "Oh man. We sure will."<p>

"Hm. You don't sound so excited about that."

Wheeljack resisted a sigh as well, and instead, as he thought back on the time he had been on Earth, could only say, "Well, you know how catching up goes, Springer. Some is bad. Some is good. Bit a both." His seat belt tightened around his charge, and his spark warmed. "But I promise you that the best thing that's happened to me is Miko."

Miko mock fanned herself with both hands, fluttering her lashes while her eyes rolled up. "Oh Wheeljack," and she obnoxiously waved a hand at him, "you flatter me too much!"

"I can't flatter what's true, Babe!"

* * *

><p>Ratchet felt his spark warm at the sight of Orion and Elita walking through the space bridge with their fingers laced. It had been . . . a LONG time since he'd seen them this happy with such freedom to show a little PDA. He had to admit, Orion withdrawing from leadership was doing wonders for the mech.<p>

They both smiled when they saw him, and Elita was the first to greet him with a hug. The space bridge powered down behind them. "Ratchet! It's so good to see you again!"

He returned her embrace with a soft chuckle. "And you as well, Elita. A year is far too long for an annual. I'll have to make it twice a year."

She laughed when they parted, blue optics twinkling. "Oh, you'll get your chance, Ratchet. When I'm further along, you'll be demanding to see me more and more."

Ratchet smiled, and Orion took his servo, giving him a firm shake and laying his opposite hand on top of his forearm. "It's good to see you, old friend," he said warmly.

He tried not to let the thickness of his voice show. "It's good to see you again, Orion."

"Oh, no, what are you two doing?" Both mechs looked over at Elita in the hangar, and she put her servos on her hips, cocking a brow at them. "Am I going to have to push and prod you both to hug like proper friends again? I'm not having a repeat of what happened last time. Now be good mechs and hug. Right now."

Orion's features softened, and with a soft chuckle, he wrapped his arms around Ratchet. Ratchet did the same, spark nearly breaking with how much he needed the gesture from him. Primus, he really had stayed on Earth for too long. He was beginning to measure life and time on human standards instead of Cybertronian if he had missed him THIS much!

Ratchet cleared his vocalizer suspiciously before motioning Elita towards the medical berth. "If you'll have a seat, Elita." He glanced back at Orion. "How go things on Cybertron?"

Orion smiled and took a seat on the opposite berth as Ratchet began his standard check up for the sparked Elita. "Things are proceeding wonderfully. Our first shelter is finally standing, much thanks to the hard work of the Vehicons. Tensions between us are finally starting to ease some. I've caught Bumblebee and Smokescreen talking to them multiple times"

Ratchet chuckled, scanning over Elita before performing a separate scan on her spark chamber. "Trust those kids to be good buffers. They're both too friendly for their own good."

"Grapple arrived a few orns ago," Orion added, "with a small batch of Neutral refugees he had been caring for; it was a wonder they managed to make the journey, so many piled into such a small and derelict ship."

At the mention of it, Elita's optics widened with a familiar motherly worry as she turned her mild glare on Orion. "I thought that ship was going to fall apart before it touched the landing pad," she said sharply, brows cinching. "Grapple should have known better."

Orion just smiled at her worry and shook her head. "Nonetheless, we finally have a proper architect to take over construction on Cybertron. He's overhauled most of the blueprints and is planning the reconstruction in a more efficient way. Perceptor is relieved to have him taking over."

Ratchet smirked. "I'm sure. He was in far over his head when he took over for Wheeljack." He glanced up from his readings on Elita. "How's Prowl doing? I trust Jazz has been a good influence on him?"

"Oh, TREMENDOUS," Elita said quickly, absolutely grinning from audio to audio. "Prowl's been in much better spirits with him around. Everyone is, really. He's like a never-ending well of encouragement and optimism."

Ratchet grunted, approving of the situation with a nod. "And Ultra Magnus?"

Orion crossed a leg, lips playing against a smile at the thought of his brother. "Since I've stepped down from leadership, Ultra Magnus has been forced to step up. He doesn't seem to be enjoying it by any means, but he's certainly doing an excellent job. He's also taken a shine to Bumblebee's knack for leadership. Earning his voice box back has done our former scout wonders."

Against his will, Ratchet felt such a pride for the young bot well up in him that he felt an involuntary smile cross his features. He had to fight harder than he cared to admit to staunch the feelings before they interfered with what he was doing. Clearing his vocalizer, he said, "Elita, your vitals check out in the clear. Now if you would, I'll need you to open up your spark chamber."

She followed his instructions, and Ratchet sat down opposite of her, peering inside at the sparkling. "So, what about our renegade Decepticons?" Ah, the sparkling's growing spark seemed strong, and it was beginning to settle beneath his mother's spark as it should. He could see the tiny exoskeleton beginning to form on schedule.

"Unfortunately," Orion said, "we've been unable to locate either Starscream of Shockwave. We're not so worried about the Predacons, as they seem to have migrated deep into the Manganese Mountains. If we give them their space, we are sure they will stay peaceful." He paused. "Tentative ideas have been pressed to make Shockwave our ally instead of an enemy. We believe he's kept close to his creations, so if we could settle peace between us and them, it could prove beneficial."

Ratchet released a perturbed hum in his chassis. "That's risky, Orion. Are you sure the benefits outweigh the negatives?"

"I'd like to keep things as peaceful as possible."

Ratchet snorted under his breath. "Right. Is Knockout behaving?"

"Admirably, other than being a regular nuisance about his paintjob. A little respect goes a long way with him."

Leaning back, Ratchet closed his scanner and nodded at Elita. She closed her spark chamber as he said, "Both you and your sparkling are healthy as horses, Elita. Come time for your next annual, his exoskeleton should be almost fully formed and he'll begin to grow. Depending on how long you'd like to keep him in gestation, your protoform may only expand a little. You're a hearty sized femme."

She rolled her optics. "Thank you, Ratchet." She glanced towards the opening of the hangar. "I thought you said Wheeljack had a checkup right after me?"

At the thought, Ratchet immediately harrumphed and stood, crossing his arms. "Yes, and I see he's late. Don't worry though, I'm sure he'll come barreling through any minute now. I heard he's been sight-seeing with Springer." Under his breath, Ratchet muttered something about Wreckers and always missing their checkups on purpose.

Elita chuckled and bounced to Orion's side, and she planted a quick kiss on his cheek. Orion nuzzled her briefly back before looking at his put-off medic. "How are things here on Earth, Ratchet? Jack graduates this year, doesn't he?"

Ratchet's optics widen, and his servos slipped back down at his sides. "No, Orion, Jack graduated last year. Miko graduates this year."

His crystal optics widened. "We missed it?"

Elita's face drew in. "Oh, I bet Jack was so disappointed . . ."

Ratchet shook his head. Time seemed to move differently now that they were back on Cybertron. "Springer's been on Earth for almost two years with Wheeljack by now. Jack graduated last year, Miko graduates this year, and Raf will be graduating next year at the ripe young age of fifteen." Ratchet couldn't help the way he glowed with pride as he said that. He'd helped the young genius with his studies which allowed Raf to progress even further than previously anticipated. "Remember? Arcee came back for Jack's graduation. He was understanding about you missing it." Ratchet paused. "I do have it on film if you would like to watch."

Orion nodded immediately. "We will have to watch it."

"I'll download it for you," Ratchet offered, and he turned to his computers, pulling out an empty datapad for the job so he could give it to him. "Good news is, Agent Fowler has found more energon deposits."

Elita brightened. "That's fantastic!"

Ratchet smiled. "Yes, it is. But that was what I've been meaning to talk to you about, Orion," and he turned back around as the video began downloading to the datapad. He leaned his servos back against the computer, bracing his weight there. "While Agent Fowler has managed to garner some support to help mine the energon, they need a Cybertronian who knows what they're doing to help them. I was wondering if you had a bot to spare."

Hearing the familiar rev of an engine, Orion nodded his helm towards the entrance when Wheeljack transformed up, looking towards the sky. "I believe you have two workers here now."

Wheeljack waved, and he squinted as Springer lowered in his helicopter mode, landing on the ground. His propellers stopped, and his door opened, and Miko came jumping out, taller than Orion remembered her, and hair in a different, more subdued style. However, some things never changed.

She pumped her fists into the air. "All right! Helicopter rides are the coolest!"

Wheeljack and Springer laughed, and before Wheeljack could, Springer snatched her up. "That's right," he said, and he elbowed Wheeljack with a wink as he passed. "Let it be known, that Miko likes my alt mode best!"

"Not true!" Wheeljack bellowed as he came trotting after Springer, frowning up at his partner. "Who cares if she likes your alt mode best? She likes ME best." Glancing over, he saw Ratchet, and a broad grin swept across his face. "Hey, Ratchet!" The medic in question reared back and stiffened in surprise when he was locked into a tight hug. Slinging an arm around his shoulders, Wheeljack did his very best Bugs Bunny impression.

"Eh, what's up, Doc?"

Ratchet sputtered for one moment before he recovered. "Wheeljack, I've told you and told you, my name is NOT—"

"Ratchet!"

The medic stumbled to a halt when Springer laughed and deposited Miko on his shoulder, and the human gave his audio a tight hug. "Good to see you, you cranky ol' bot! So how've you been holding up out here on your own, Doc?"

Wheeljack plucked her off his shoulder when he turned a sharp glare at her. He pointed his finger at her. "Don't you think that just because you're a couple of years older that you can get away with calling me that," he growled.

"Ease up, Doc," Springer said, slinging an arm around his shoulders and lightly punching him. If possible, Ratchet scowled darker. "They just missed you, that's all! Lighten up!"

His comment about them missing him made Ratchet double-take, and Elita ducked her face into Orion's shoulder, trying to stifle her giggles. Finally, Ratchet sputtered and wrenched himself from Springer's grip. "All right, all right! I'm in charge here!" He plucked Miko from Wheeljack's servo and handed her to Springer. "You two, out of my medical area! Wheeljack," and he pointed to his medical berth, "SIT."

Springer backed up, setting Miko on the former Prime's berth at her request before getting out of Ratchet's way. Wheeljack sat a touch sulkily on the medical berth, already protesting, "Doc, my ticker's fine, I promise."

"I'LL be the judge of that."

Miko came up next to Orion and Elita, and she gave them a snappy salute. "Hello Mr. and Mrs. Pax," she said with the biggest Cheshire grin a body could ever have.

The bots in question smiled at her. Orion smiled, and his voice rumbled out, "Hello, Miko. You're certainly growing up."

"And growing up so fast," Elita mused, her smile gentling as she poked her tummy. "Why, you're practically a lady!"

"Hah!" Miko snorted, crossing her arms. "Me? A lady? I might be getting close to being grown, but I'm hardly a lady! I got suspended from the last couple days of school last year because Brittany was being a jerk again."

Elita's brow rose. "Suspended?" she echoed.

Miko nodded with a pleased grin. She cracked her knuckles. "She'd been harassing me all year, but I let it go like I was supposed to. She took a crack at me being a daddy's girl though, so I hauled off and punched her right in the nose!" Miko snickered. "Aw, poor girl. She had to walk across the graduation stage with a broken nose. It was beautiful. You should have seen it."

Orion's lips pressed, and before he could say anything, Wheeljack suddenly piped up, "It's no use in trying to reprimand her, Prime—Orion. She's pleased with herself about that one and won't be talked out of it."

"I sure won't," Miko confirmed. "So where's the baby?"

A surprised expression crossed Elita's features. "He's still in the gestation process, Miko."

Miko's jaw dropped. "STILL?" she exclaimed. "But I've been waiting years for this baby! You mean to tell me he's still not done doing that gestating thing?" She threw up her hands. "I'm gonna be an old maid by the time I get to see him!"

Elita's optics widened in some sort of alarm as she quickly corrected, "No, of course he won't be gestating that long, Miko! I have maybe two more years, three at most of pregnancy. I promise. You'll get to see him grow up."

Miko snorted and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, not before I have my own kid."

"No babies," Wheeljack automatically grumbled out to her as Ratchet poked through his chassis.

Miko rolled her eyes once again. "Things with Jack are not that serious yet, Wheeljack."

"Or ever."

Orion and Elita witnessed Miko's eyes widen and her lips pressed with visible annoyance, and she threw up her hands. "All right, I'm heading out. I'm gonna go find Casino and Boobie since Dad here won't get off my back."

She slid off the medical slab, intending on leaving, and Elita asked, "Could I come with you, Miko? I'd like to see the girls as well."

"Sure!" Miko said, and she waved the Cybertronian to come with her. Elita rose, walking slowly as Miko trotted along. "I'm hoping they can teach me some more moves! I mean, they've sure taught me a lot already, but still! I want to make that mean right hook of mine downright DANGEROUS. Know what I mean?"

Elita smiled down at the human as they exited the hangar. "I do," she said, thinking about her own adamant nature to learn. "You know, if you'd like, Miko, I could show him to you."

Miko whirled around and gaped up at her. "The baby?"

"Yes."

She stared. "That. Is. So. Cool. Yeah, I want to see him, but first let's go find Casino and Boobie! I'm sure they'll want to see him too!" Miko began to trot along again, glancing back up at Elita every now and then. "So, have you guys named him yet?"

"Not yet, but we've had some ideas . . ."

The girls' chatter faded out of the hangar. Orion watched them fondly until they were out of sight. To the side, Springer leaned against the wall, and he grunted, crossing his ankles.

"She's a good kid, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack sighed, and he scrubbed a servo over his face. "Yeah, but she's hardly a kid anymore, Springer. I mean, look at her. She's practically grown."

Ratchet, in the middle of a scan, grunted as he watched the read-out of Wheeljack's spark fluctuate a bit at the words before settling again. His medical instruments snapped shut, and he unhooked Wheeljack from the machine reading his spark wavelengths. "You check out fine, Wheeljack. Other than a hiccup, your spark seems to be holding up well. Keep it that way, or else."

Wheeljack saluted. "Righto, Doc." He stood, intending on beating it with Springer before Ratchet grabbed his elbow.

"Ah-ah-ah! I'm not through with you yet."

Wheeljack threw up his hands, similarly to what Miko had done earlier. "What else do you want, Doc? You just finished!"

"Both of you," Ratchet said, and he pointed at Wheeljack and Springer. Springer straightened as he was called to attention. "I've got work for you to do."

"Work?" Springer piped up. His brows cinched. "What kind of work?"

Ratchet crossed his servos. "Energon mining. Agent Fowler has supplied the manpower and machinery, now we need Cybertronians who know how to handle volatile energon. You both have just been enlisted."

Both Wreckers stared. "You can't be serious, Doc," Wheeljack finally stammered out. He glanced back at Orion, jabbing a thumb Ratchet's way. "Is he serious?"

Orion nodded. "Very serious," he confirmed. "As Cybertron is recovering at a slow rate, her energon wells are not full and flowing yet. To be able to mine energon freely from Earth is a commodity we are blessed to have. You will both be instrumental to Cybertron's continued restoration."

He was hardly averse to the idea, he just hadn't expected to have something to do. He supposed since Miko's next school year was going to be coming up he'd have something to do while she was in school . . . Springer just shrugged, and Wheeljack returned the gesture.

"Guess the vacation's over, eh, Springer?"


	70. Endings Can Change

**Author's Note:**

**Ugh, so SORRY this has taken forever. D: I've been really distracted lately. But! Here's a fun chapter!**

**Much love to my newest fav/followers Grimlock King Of Arendelle, Jellybeanshiba, LordChumley21, alienlover64, ts-animalgirl, CrazyCowGirlAutobot, and Arceegirl4evr!**

**And to my awesome reviewers SilenceSpeaksWhenWordsCan't, Miko873, Bluefeather4299, Autobot Chromia, Spiritstrike, BossBot97, ZabuzasGirl, couriosity, Filly92, Guest, Fanatic97, Starlight Prime, Major Wanderer, Kuurankukka, Katie Gibbs, Little Kunai, and Sounddrive, I GIVE YOU ALL INTERNET COOKIES. HUG HUG KISS KISS COOKIES FOR ALL!**

* * *

><p>"So how's Arcee?"<p>

Wheeljack nearly felt his wheels twist out of alignment. Correcting his angle on the road towards the hotel where he was going to drop Miko off—she had a date with Jack since he was in Tokyo for a brief period that summer—he finally cleared out of his glitching vocalizer, "What?

She tapped her toe, the gesture a bit difficult since she was in heels. "Arcee, Wheeljack. Y'know, the one you've been dating for as long as I've been dating Jack?"

Wheeljack cleared his vocalizer uncomfortably, slowing to a stop at a red light. He inched forward a little when someone got right up on his rear, and his irritation piqued when they inched up even more. "W-Well, what about her?" he evaded the question. "I thought you didn't want all the icky details."

"I DON'T," Miko said with an annoyed roll of her eyes. She smoothed her peach colored dress down to her knees again, and she wrinkled her nose as she pulled up on her boobs again, muttering about stupid strapless bras. "Look, it's like how you want the details about me and Jack but I don't have to detail all the snogging to you."

"PLEASE don't remind me," Wheeljack said, plating hitching a bit uncomfortably at the thought. He had to keep reminding himself that she was eighteen this year, graduated even, and preparing to go to college. The thought was mind-boggling. "Last time you opened your mouth about that, I had to turn off my audios."

"Because you were poking in again when you didn't need to," Miko reminded him, and then she sat up, frowning at him. "Wait just a second, you're evading the question! Now fess up, what's wrong? You guys have a fight?"

Wheeljack cleared his vocalizer uncomfortably again, finally saying, "Yeah, you could call it that."

Miko snorted. "Yeah? Then what do you call it? Wait a minute, don't go to Jack's hotel yet, circle around Tokyo again."

An annoyed vent pushed from his systems. "Miko," he said tightly, getting more uncomfortable by the minute, "look, you're gonna be late for you date if—"

"I don't care, Jack can wait," Miko said stubbornly. She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. "Now c'mon, Wheeljack, you're hiding something. What's going on?"

"Nothing is going on," Wheeljack persisted, unwillingly taking the long way around.

"Sure nothing's going on," Miko agreed sarcastically. Wheeljack felt his indignation rile at her tone and eye roll. "You haven't even talked about her the past couple years unless I'm pulling at your teeth—" Slowly, Miko's jaw dropped, and her arms slacked. "Oh Wheeljack, you AFT!"

She kicked below his dash sharply, fire practically spitting from her eyes. "Wheeljack, you AFT! You stupid—you AFT! You mean you haven't been with her for years? What the hell!" She kicked him again, and Wheeljack's mirrors flexed under her wrath. "Are you out of your mind? Did you think I wasn't going to find out? What the frag did you even break up for? Oh you absolute—JERK!"

She kicked him one more time before Wheeljack piped up in annoyance, "Hey, I was the one in the relationship, not you! If things didn't work out between us, they just didn't work out, all right, Miko?"

Miko gave one, flat laugh at him. "Yeah? Last I heard you were thinking about bonding with her. So what happened to that?"

Wheeljack stifled an annoyed growl, slowing for a red light that turned green. He sped back up. "Look, I don't have to explain myself to you," he barked a bit too sharply. "I broke it off with Arcee because it just wasn't going to work."

Miko crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "YOU broke it off?" she repeated, latching to that information immediately. If he had been in bot mode, Wheeljack would have rolled his optics with a scowl. "And I'll get you to explain yourself because I'm smelling a stupid-ass reason for breaking up with her."

"You watch your language, missy—"

"WHEELJACK!"

He noticed the spruced up, blue pickup truck a second before it T-boned straight into his side. All the breath gusted from him. His air bags deployed. His metal caved in, biting into his protoform, and he felt himself flip and tumble, armor crushing. Miko was screaming shrilly, and Wheeljack felt his back hit the road hard, and his windshield shattered in a deadly hail of jagged glass. He felt Miko's blood spattering over his interior. Before he could get his bearings, he felt the guard rail twist and cave beneath his weight, and during the impact, Miko's screaming stopped.

A cold chill settled in his stomach as he went sailing over the edge. He stared up at the truck that followed him over the edge, and he felt sick to his energon tanks.

_Primus please, no . . ._

He smacked into the surface of the water with a vengeance, and he felt the water flood his cabin. Dizzied with pain, Wheeljack felt himself seized with terror when he hit the mucky floor of the canal, and the pickup rested on top of him, pinning him down.

For a second, Wheeljack was paralyzed with helplessness. He knew how this dream ended. He knew how it ended, Primus, it couldn't end like this—he knew how this ended!

Desperation and fear drove himself when nothing else could. Transforming, crying out under the pressure of the water when broken pieces sliced his protoform, Wheeljack shoved the pickup off of him. Lurching to his peds, Wheeljack walked painfully towards the shore, limping on his left leg as he tried to get out of the water. The second his head and chassis were erected from the water's surface, he opened his chassis up, trembling in terror at the pool of water that began to leak out.

"M-Miko?"

His violently shaking hand reached in and scooped up an unconscious body. As his peds sloshed up to shore, he fell on his knees and laid Miko gingerly on the ground, staring in horror at the lacerations over her body, the bruising, the water running from her mouth and nose, the blood staining her peach dress—

For a second, he was wracked with violent shudders, and his servos pressed to his face, stifling the wild panic that wanted to overtake his circuits. Knowing his servos were too big to be of much use, he tried to utilize his holoform. The form crackled and spat, struggling to retain its shape, but Wheeljack knelt down, hands twitching in terrified indecision about what to do. He plucked a glass shard from her cheek.

Heedless of if she had broken bones, Wheeljack turned her over, letting the water drain from her mouth, and he turned her back over. He checked her heart, almost collapsing in relief when he felt it. But she wasn't breathing, and he couldn't clear her airways, he didn't have the breath of life—

He looked up, seeing several bystanders. They stared, some whispering to each other in undertones, two on their phones and rapidly speaking into them, presumably calling for help. His vocalizer cracked. "Please!" He gave a gesture to Miko. "Please, you have to help her! Please!" When they just kept looking, in a cross between fear and wonder, Wheeljack hurriedly switched from English to Japanese. "You've got to help her!" he plead again, this time in their native tongue. "Please, you have to help her, I'm begging you!" Kneeling over her, his glitching holoform pulled a shard from her forehead, and he pressed his hand there, knowing humans bled the quickest from their head.

Wheeljack trembled, and at some point, lubricant had welled up in his eyes. His vocalizer broke in desperation as he rasped, "Please—Please, help her . . ."

It was an old man that moved from the tiny crowd of bystanders. Someone reached out to stop him, but missed as he moved down the slope, taking off his jacket in the process. He slowed when he approached, casting nervous glances to Wheeljack's robot body.

Wheeljack swallowed, energon blue eyes glistening with tears as he begged in a whisper, "Please . . . Please, she's my little girl, you've got to help her . . ."

The man hesitated one more moment before he knelt down, swiftly pressing his jacket to her head to help staunch the bleeding. Wheeljack backed his holoform off as the man began to give her mouth-to-mouth, and the energies fizzled out, unable to keep the holoform solid in his condition.

Suddenly realizing he was crying so much he could barely see through his tears, Wheeljack scrubbed his face. Clearly, distress was a universal thing, easily recognized by any species. Then, belatedly realizing he had completely thrown his cover to the wind, Wheeljack transformed again, and he backed away and under the bridge, leaving a vivid trail of energon as he watched the man doing for Miko what he couldn't.

Wheeljack hovered out of sight as the old man worked on her, unable to do anything more. The paramedics showed up in record time, and Wheeljack felt his spark leap when Miko suddenly began to cough. People began to surround her, and the old man backed off. Sirens wailed, and never once occurred to Wheeljack that he had left the truck and its driver beneath the water. Instead, he focused on Miko as she was loaded up on a stretcher, and the first word out of her mouth was a panicked, "Wheeljack? Wheeljack! Jackie!"

He flashed his headlights, catching her attention, and she tried to keep him in her sights as she was loaded into the back of an ambulance. Wheeljack's skipping spark finally began to settle a little, seeing that she was conscious and alive doing him a world of good. When the old man turned back to look at him, Wheeljack rolled back.

"Ratchet," he finally managed to say into his comm. link, "I need a bridge. Now."

Wheeljack heard the old man say something, and it took him a moment longer than it should have to translate the word as "wait". A second or two later, the ground bridge opened behind him, and Wheeljack flicked his headlights again, saying, "Thank you so much," to the man before he slipped through the bridge, leaving him behind.

The second he was through the ground bridge, he jumped at the sound of Ratchet's voice exploding, "Wheeljack! What happened? Med bay, now! Where's Miko?"

Wheeljack watched the swirling lights dissolve. He transformed halting, slowly becoming more aware of his own wounds the more he calmed down. "M-Miko's gonna be all right," he finally managed, trying to make himself believe those words. "She's going to the hospital, so she'll be okay. The docs will take care of her—"

"HOSPITAL?" Ratchet exploded. On the tail of his outburst was an equally worried, "What do you mean she's going to the hospital?"

Wheeljack looked over, noticing Agent Fowler and General Bryce, and belatedly, realized he had interrupted something important. Before he had the chance to respond, Ratchet snapped, "Wheeljack, medical berth, NOW. You're leaking all over the floor."

Limping his way over to the med bay area, Wheeljack became more aware of the trail of energon and water he was leaving behind him, and the glass and broken bits of metal he shed. Hissing slightly in pain, Wheeljack sank down on the medical berth, glad to get his weight off his legs.

"We were—in a car crash," Wheeljack finally managed, sounding how alien the words were to him. He never crashed. "Some—Ratch, some pickup slammed right into me, and we—we tumbled into a c-canal."

Ratchet froze immediately at the reminder of the dream. He looked over his shoulder at Wheeljack, and the frazzled Wrecker quickly managed, "I-It's fine, Ratchet. She's okay. I—I saw her awake and breathing with my own two optics."

The medic gave a curt nod, muttering about that being a good sign before he whirled back to Wheeljack, medical instruments clenched tight in his fists.

"Strip off the wrecked pieces of armor," Ratchet said crisply, already squatting to see the damage to his side where the collision had initially struck. His servos stripped him, narrowing at the bruised and cut protoform beneath. Wheeljack barely heard him swearing about internal damage.

Wheeljack glanced down at himself, and he made a face. "C'mon, Doc, all of it? Really? Some of it's not bad, and if I take off every messed up piece, I might as well be naked, for Primus' sake!"

"Then be naked!" Ratchet shot back in irritation, beginning to pluck glass and metal from his side. Wheeljack winced when he passed a servo over a slit of protoform that could be peeled back like a layer of skin. He took a glance at how his transformations had cut through and sliced thin layers of his protoform and his jaw clenched. It hurt like hell now, but when Ratchet started to actually clean and tend to it . . . Wheeljack shuddered lightly at the thought, crumpled winglets twitching.

As if hearing his thoughts, Ratchet snapped, "I can't believe you, Wheeljack, TRANSFORMING after you'd been hit like that? You could have punctured yourself straight to your spark chamber! You don't know how the mangled metal could snap in at different angles!"

"I had to get Miko outta there, Doc!" Wheeljack snipped peevishly back, feeling awkwardly exposed as he stripped of his dented and crushed armor. "I took things into my own hands, all right?"

Wheeljack blinked and leaned back when a wrench was suddenly pointed at the center of his helm. He nearly went cross eyed trying to look at it. "Mute your vocalizer, Wheeljack, or so help me I WILL use this, and it won't be for repairs!" Ratchet's sharp gaze hit Agent Fowler and General Bryce, of which both intimidated men flinched. "I'm afraid we'll have to finish this later. Feel free to stay if you want to see my patient squirm."

"Well, I can't help it when you're about as gentle as sticking my body in a metal grinder!"

"Shut up, Wheeljack! I am trying to work!"

General Bryce leaned back on his heels at the display in front of him. A brow rose, and he looked to Agent Fowler. The black man smiled ill at ease, stating, "Ah, don't worry about them, General Bryce. That's Ratchet's typical bedside behavior. A little embellished for Wheeljack, but . . . Ratchet's the top medic for Cybertronians."

He gave a noncommittal grunt. He cast a wayward glance at Fowler. "I suppose we ought to go and give this . . . temperamental medic his space?"

Agent Fowler gave a vague gesture. "If you'd like to stay and watch, Sir, I do believe that will be just fine. Ratchet himself said you could stay, and as long as we stay out of his way, he'll leave us alone." He smiled then. "Besides, I can promise that you'll be in for some of the best entertainment of your life."

Bryce looked back to the two Cybertronians, Wheeljack of whom was nearly stripped to his bare protoform and leaking blue energon over the table and floor. Even after a car crash, the Lanica was spirited, swearing as he said, "C'mon, Doc, I know I'm bleeding, but there's a shard of glass digging right into the wiring at my winglet! Surely you can—"

"Wheeljack, I am busy, now mute it!"

"But Doc, my side isn't going anywhere, but that glass fragging hurts! You can spare just a second to get—"

"Oh, FINE you crybaby of a sparkling! There! Is that better?"

"YES. That is MUCH better. Now can you please—OW! Fraggit, Doc! Watch what you're doing!"

"I am watching what I'm doing! Now if you would QUIT SQUIRMING perhaps this wouldn't hurt so much!"

"I'm squirming because it hurts!"

General Bryce's lips twitched. He leaned against the railing with Agent Fowler, saying only, "Perhaps it will be educational."

* * *

><p>"Wheeljack!"<p>

Wheeljack felt his entire being deflate with relief seeing Miko sitting up in the hospital bed, sucking on a juice box and watching some sort of cartoon. Her left arm was in a sling, both arms covered in gauze, but she smiled brightly at the sight of him.

"Check it out!" she said with a grin, and she pointed to the rows of stitches in her face. "Battle scars!"

Pushing a tight breath of stress out of his body, Wheeljack's holoform hurried across the hospital room to lean down, gently put both hands on either side of her face, and kiss her forehead firmly, mindful of the stitches above her right eye.

"Do you have ANY idea how worried I was for you?" he whispered, trying to keep his voice even.

Miko gave him 'the look'. "Wheeljack. You were worried about me? You were the one that got hit by a car! How are YOU?"

"I—I'm fine," he managed to stammer back, leaning back at the look in her eyes. He sank down on the edge of the bed with her, saying, "I'm actually doing pretty well, if you can believe it. Most of the damage is to my protoform, a lot of cuts and gashes from where I transformed. Point of impact is the worse. Everything still hurts some, but Ratchet's already repaired most of my armor. I'll be fine." Wheeljack touched her arm. "So how about you? That sling doesn't look too good."

Miko narrowed her eyes. "Yeah? C'mon, Wheeljack. You're worse than that. Fess it up, what else is wrong?"

Wheeljack's brows rose. "I—What?"

"Wheeljack."

He made a face at her, annoyed that she was doing that again. "The impact hit my side and jostled my spark some. It's been hiccupping a little bit, but I should make a full recovery and it'll settle back down. A little internal damage, but my auto-repair systems will eventually heal that on its own. Honestly, Miko, I'm doing all right. Cybertronians don't break easily."

After looking at him for a moment longer, Miko nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. "Well, I broke my collar bone, and I broke TWO MORE RIBS." Her lip curled up in disgust as she shook her head. Wheeljack felt the edge of his mouth pull up with a small, sympathizing smile because he knew how much she had hated having broken ribs. "Two broken ribs and one fractured rib. Small concussion—which was why I had to stay overnight—and apparently some sort of diaphragm rupture. Mild whiplash, so my neck hurts like hell."

"Language."

She poked her tongue out at him. "Stuff it up yours, Wheeljack, I'm a full grown woman now," she combated him. She took a sip of her juice box though, inadvertently giving Wheeljack the impression of the young girl she used to be. He sighed to himself, always slightly alarmed by how quickly she seemed to be growing up.

"I've got a total of twenty-six stitches," she continued. She pointed to her face. "Five in my forehead, eight in my cheek, ten in my right arm and three in my left. Some of the glass went in deeper, various places in my arms, and thankfully, I don't have any infections." She lifted her right arm to show it covered in gauze and nodded her head to her right arm. "Little cuts everywhere, so I'm a gauze freak now. My hips and shoulders are bruised up, I hit my knees on the underside of the dashboard, but otherwise, I'm doing pretty good. No life changing damages."

Wheeljack frowned at her. "How long are you going to be in the sling?" he asked her.

She gave a one-sided shrug. "About six weeks. But on the bright side, I'm gonna be released from the hospital tonight. Did you see Jack when you were coming in? He was going to smuggle me in some real food."

Wheeljack studied her a bit more, looking at the IV still in her arm and the bags under her eyes. He took a deep breath and released it, rubbing his face. "Miko, how are you really? You just trying to act really cheerful to cheer me up?"

Miko wrinkled her nose a little and took a sip of her juice to stall for time. The juice slurped up the straw as she reached the bottom. "Sort of," she finally admitted. "I do hurt a whole lot even on the painkillers, but honestly, I'm gonna be perfectly fine. So stop worrying."

Defeated, Wheeljack sighed, resting his hands on the bed with her. "All right. Just don't go popping pain meds more than you're allowed or need."

Miko rolled her eyes and muted the TV. "I'm not gonna get hooked on PAIN MEDS of all things, Jackie. Now you, you're the one I'd worry about."

Wheeljack snorted and crossed his arms haughtily. "Yeah? Just so you know, I'm not on any pain meds."

Miko raised a brow.

He rolled his optics. "I had some earlier today, but I skipped my dose this afternoon. Just don't tell Ratchet."

Miko mimicked the gesture. "I won't," she promised, "just don't whine later on when you're feeling like crap."

"Wreckers have a high tolerance for pain."

Miko glanced towards the window of her room and the closed door. "Speaking of Wreckers," she said, seeing only nurses walking by, "where's Springer? Is he coming to see me?"

Wheeljack nodded. "Yeah," he said, raking a hand through his hair. "He's gonna be a bit later. He's convincing the higher ups that the Vehicon miners don't need constant supervision while he comes to visit. Y'know, a show of trust by letting them handle themselves without an Autobot breathing down their backs. They're really not that bad—actually, they're all kinda big dorks. They seem to like Earth culture."

He watched Miko's lip curl at that, and she shook her head. "Okay. How about Ratchet?"

That made him chuckle. "Doc swears up and down that he's not going to succumb to using a holoform, but I bet you before the hour's up that he'll show up." Wheeljack waggled his brows at Miko with a grin. "He's gotta make sure these doctors are fixing you up right, yeah? And he'll never admit he's got a soft spot for you."

Miko laughed as well. "Well, good, so we'll be alone for a while. Because I need to talk to you."

Wheeljack felt his grin slip and fade immediately. "Look, Miko, there's—"

She held up her hand and narrowed her eyes at him. "I swear to God, if you say there's nothing to talk about, I will get up from this gurney and beat you up myself."

Wheeljack's jaw snapped shut.

Miko shifted on the bed, rubbing between her brows as she contemplated what she was about to say or ask. Finally, she settled on, "Well, first tell me why you broke up with her."

Wheeljack snorted. "You're not gonna like the answer."

"Spill."

Hiking his feet on the lower edge of the bed, Wheeljack leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Chuffing a grunt, he rubbed his forehead in a similar way to Miko. "Miko," he said softly, "we're bonded."

Her brows shot up. "You already bonded with—"

"Not with her," he interrupted before she could continue. He stared at the floor. "With you, Miko. I'm bonded with you."

"Yeah?"

He stayed silent. When she didn't answer, clearly not computing the same, painfully obvious answer, he squeezed his eyes shut. "Miko," he said gruffly, "how old am I?"

She paused. "Actually, I don't know. Some millennia, I'm guessing?"

Nodding, he prodded, "And how old are you?"

"I turn nineteen in a month."

Wheeljack held his tongue a moment, letting that settle in, and when she still didn't make the connection, he scowled down at his knees. Was she really that oblivious? Or was she just refusing to connect the dots herself?

Rubbing his chest subconsciously, feeling his spark hiccup in pain again, Wheeljack shook his head. "Miko, if you live a day past 100, I'm going to be lucky. And you saw what happened when we lost Twin Twist."

Miko's lips thinned. Her honey eyes drilled uncertainly into him. "Wheeljack, you—" and she choked in the middle of her sentence, his hints suddenly clicking in her mind. "You mean—That's not—What does that have to do with—Wheeljack, you're not going to die when I do."

His lip snarled up a little in anger at her denial before he could stop it. "Is that so, Miko?" he barked at her. "I wasn't even BONDED to Twist and the shock of losing him was almost too much for my spark!"

"Yeah, and you pulled through for me," Miko shot back, her brows cinching angrily. "What, you don't think you can pull through for Arcee? I thought you cared about her!"

"I do!" he exclaimed, holding his hands up helplessly. "Miko, if I bonded with her and died when I lost you . . ." He shuddered in a tight breath. "I am NOT going to leave her with spark break. I won't. She shouldn't have to feel that kind of pain."

"Then don't die," Miko said simply, crossing her good arm over her chest.

"It's not that simple," Wheeljack snapped, spark hiccupping painfully. He rubbed his brow again, trying to reign in his temper. "Miko," he muttered crossly, "my spark's been spliced so many times with spark fractures that it's a miracle I'm even alive right now. Even Ratchet agrees with me that something as drastic as spark break is going to make my spark stop. I'm well aware of the limitations of my own body, Miko, and it's starting to give out."

Miko turned her face away from him. Wheeljack looked back at the floor, relieved not to have to look in that guileless gaze anymore. She knew just how to cut him open, didn't she?

"You seem awfully certain that you're going to die."

He gave an almost bitter laugh and refused to look at her. "There isn't much likelihood that I'm going to survive, Babe."

"MUCH," Miko repeated. "But that means there is some hope. Hey," and she leaned over, nudging his shoulder and wincing at her protesting ribs. "Hey, Dad, look at me."

Reluctantly, Wheeljack lifted his head up to her. She smiled softly and reached out her good hand, so he took it, marveling how his hand still managed to swallow hers whole.

"Now," she said, "let's think about this. I, for one, think you're just giving up too easily." When he gave an automatic scoff, she squeezed his hand. "Hey. Let me talk. You keep saying you're bonded with me, but if we put it in the terms that the good medic put it in, we are 'artificially' bonded."

"Bonded in all but full connection with emotions," Wheeljack persisted under his breath. "The deteriorating effects are still the same."

Miko's lips pursed in annoyance. "Quit the pity party, Wheeljack."

His blue eyes flashed. "I am not pitying myself, I'm just accepting the facts."

"If you accepted the facts about your spark," Miko said stubbornly, "you'd have been dead a long time ago." Wheeljack's cheek twitched. Miko sighed and squeezed his hand again. "Wheeljack, I need you to promise me something."

Though in retrospect Wheeljack should have known it was a bad idea, he immediately said, "Anything."

"Don't die."

A frustrated sigh escaped from Wheeljack. "Miko—"

"Nope. No excuses. Just don't die."

Feeling like his spark was caught between a rock and a hard place, Wheeljack looked up to meet Miko's brown eyes. She gazed back calmly, if seriously back at him, a well of patience daring him to talk back to her again. The problem was, he couldn't promise her that. He couldn't promise that his spark wouldn't give out from the strain of it all. And that scared him. He couldn't bear the thought of breaking another promise in his lifetime after he'd screwed so many things up.

"Wheeljack." She squeezed his hand with reassurance, eyes softening. "I know you can make it. You always do. And now, I'm asking you to make it for Arcee the way you'd pull through for me. After all you've been through, you deserve to live and be happy, Dad." Wheeljack winced slightly, and his hands tightened around hers. Her words meant so much. "Pit, both you and Arcee deserve better. So promise me you'll rough it out."

A heavy breath of air blasted from his mouth. "I promise," he said softly.

"And promise me you'll bond with her and have a slew of sparklings. An army of mini-Jackie's so Ratchet's grief will never end."

His lips twitched at the thought. "I promise," he repeated.

Miko nodded. "Good." Seeming quite satisfied with herself, there was a lull in the conversation. Then, Miko's brows cinched.  
>"And WHERE is Jack? I'm starving on juice and hospital slop here!"<p>

As if on cue, the door opened, and Miko perked up. "Jack!" And in stepped an elderly man, a surprisingly thick lock of white hair with an orange streak through it. Autobot blue eyes were warm even though he had a scowl on his face.

"You'd think the doctors in this place could run a little more efficiently."

Miko's face fell. "Oh, Ratchet. I was hoping you were Jack."

He snorted and crossed his arms. "Then don't sound so delighted to see me."

At that, Miko's face pinched, and Wheeljack scooted to the end of the bed so he was out of harm's way from their verbal barbs. "Well, I was going to say I was glad to see you, but I see even you couldn't spare me a proper, hello! How are you doing Miko? So glad to see you survived your brush with death!"

Ratchet's lips pursed mulishly. "Well, MY next words would have been to ask how you were doing before you so rudely disregarded my showing up here in the first place!" He put his hands on his hips, and he lifted a brow, asking pointedly, "So how ARE you, Miko?"

"I am just fine, thank you," she replied stiffly with an equally wooden nod in his direction.

"And how did they—"

"No no no no!" Miko lifted her hand, stopping Ratchet's question before it started. "Don't you even start, Ratchet. I know what you're gonna ask me, and take it at face value when I say that I'm fine."

Disgruntled, Ratchet frowned. "And just what do you think I was going to ask you?"

Wheeljack's lips twitched against an amused smile as Miko scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Oh don't even kid yourself, Ratchet. You were going to drill me about everything these doctors did to me. And I promise you, they've done their job perfectly and I am happily on the mend. So drop it."

That look overcame Ratchet's eyes, and Wheeljack leaned back to watch the fireworks as they both warmed to the argument about to ensue. Ratchet's worry over her health was the best way the medic could show his concern. Besides, Wheeljack knew well enough that their arguments were a roundabout way of showing their love for each other. He just hoped he wouldn't have to placate some nurse for Ratchet's harassment of Miko.

Or worse, try to placate RATCHET for getting kicked out of a hospital!


	71. Brothers

**Author's Note:**

**I give out cookies and milk to my newest fav/followers Arceegirl4evr, Zeng Xiao Long Sunstar Crystal, roachvan, The Cybertronium Warrior, TheDragonGod66, XLizardXQueenX, and russianwinter013!**

**To my reviews I give cake and ice cream and big wet sloppy kisses! Lovely thanks couriosity, The Cybertronium Warrior, Little Kunai, BossBot97, Foxbear, Miko873, Words Infinity, Bluefeather4299, Crye 4 Me, Autobot Chromia, Kuurakukka, ZabuzasGirl, Katie Gibbs, shadowritergirl, Fanatic97, Filly92, Spiritstrike, Sounddrive, and SilenceSpeaksWhenWordsCan't!**

**ANd here's a heads up, I'd grab some hankies, because this one gets pretty feelsy. Really feelsy.**

**And I may have planted a seed for a sequel in my mind, but I'll need to see the new RID2015 cartoon before anything else. Don't get too excited yet. ;)**

**(Oh, and I MIGHT be only 50 reviews away from hitting a thousand... ^-^ )**

* * *

><p>With a soft sigh, Wheeljack sank down in the chair by his desk. Well, Perceptor's desk. He dropped his datapad on the top and rolled his neck, loosening the kinks. Absently, he fiddled with the edge of the document.<p>

Miko. Married.

He still wasn't sure how Jack had managed to weasel his way into the Nakadai family so well, but he had impressed her family and won her hand in marriage. And, while watching Miko's biological father take the honor of walking her down the aisle and having the father-daughter dance made Wheeljack burn with jealousy, he could be content with the fact that she had done this the previous night with him, assuring him that nothing could ever replace him as her father.

Forgetting for a moment that he was on Cybertron again to work with Perceptor to finish his work on his holoform—while Miko was on her honeymoon, he had to use the best of his free time—Wheeljack felt his lips curve minutely. His spark hummed in his chassis. She had been beautiful. And while it had been hard to let her go, he knew she was in good hands. Jack would take care of her, and it honestly provided Wheeljack a touch of relief to know that there was someone to be there for her when he couldn't.

But in light of recent events, Wheeljack felt his processor wandering again. Marriage. There was nothing so sanctified on Cybertron than bonding for the first time. Wheeljack squeezed his optics shut in the dim room, throat shifting as he thought about it. A night of never-ending pleasure. A night where two sparks, intimate and powerful, would caress one another, reaching into the depths of one another's souls to draw out the most intense sensations until the barriers would break. One soul would flood the other until they were one; indeed, the two become one flesh. His pulse pounded in his neck, his energon warming at the thought of that consummation and the kind of love he knew he could provide—

Jaw clenching in frustration, Wheeljack pounded the top of the desk with a fist, angered he had let his processor slip off in that direction again. He had chosen his path. Whether or not she liked it, he knew it was for the better. Briefly he remembered how blatantly and coldly she had ignored him the days before and after the wedding, devoting almost all her attention to Jack. Desperately, to chase away the static tickling his systems, Wheeljack drew up the face of Optimus Prime. Broken, shadowed, and empty. Wheeljack drew in a steadying breath. He knew the despair in that gaze. And he would not ever subject her to the same agony.

The doors to his office slid open. With a start, Wheeljack scooted up in his chair so he wasn't so slumped over, and his optics collided with hers, fiery and tear-glazed. His spark rate skyrocketed.

"Arcee, don't—"

She kissed him before he could say no. Her mouth devoured his, laced with passion and anger so great that Wheeljack felt a moan torn from his vocalizer. She had somehow crawled up on the chair with him, overcoming him as his servos grabbed around her waist and behind one of her thighs, dragging her closer to him when he knew he shouldn't.

The kiss broke apart with her soft, labored breaths. "I need you," she rasped, nearly quaking above him she was so full of emotions ready to blow. Her optics blazed bright, the years having eroded her passions beyond anger and into frustration and longing. One arm wrapped around his neck and the other servo grasped at his chassis, inciting him and causing that damnable heat to spread like fire. "I need you so much," she cracked out, kissing him and shuddering and hands tightening. "Please, Wheeljack . . . Please, please, I need you—I ACHE for you—"

He seized her lips before he could stop, desperate to stop the soulful pleading that cut so deep. She responded with a hunger he hadn't tasted in years, and another lustful sound escaped his vocalizer before he twisted his mouth away, gasping, "Arcee, stop. You know—"

"I don't care—"

"I can't let you—"

"I need you—"

"The spark break—"

"I want you—"

His vents stuttered at her raw passion. "Arcee, please don't—"

"_I love you."_

She seized his lips again with staggering amour, and Wheeljack felt his will crack down the middle in the wake of her passions. Her fingers dug beneath his chassis armor, exciting the protoform beneath, and her glossia tasted the inside of his mouth, hot and sultry as she ever was and ever would be. Wheeljack shook beneath her, cherishment spiraling out of control as he broke his own rule and kissed her back with every ounce of devotion he could muster, determined to love her as much as he could in this brief tryst in the night.

His vocalizer husked and cracked. "_Arcee . . ._"

He unhooked the catches of her thigh plating, exposing the pastel pink, and his servo grasped a handful of the supple protoform. With another heady moan, Wheeljack responded to her, giving her what she asked for and more, stroking, kissing, and loving. The intensity at which she responded aroused him, and he treated her as his queen, his lover, his mate. But he choked on the words "I love you" all night long, longing to say them and refraining to from doing so from causing further hurt in the morning. The unsaid words collected on the tip of his glossia; she stole them from his mouth with passionate kisses and showered them over him.

In the morning, she was gone. He should have anticipated that it would end that way, but it still hurt. It cut. And he hated himself for yielding in the first place.

Among the scattered datapads and idiosyncrasies of an overturned desk, Wheeljack shook in frustration and pressed his servos to his optics to cover up his grievances.

* * *

><p>To say excitement had seized the base when Elita was having her sparkling was an understatement.<p>

Jazz and Smokescreen were running up and down the halls and shouting at the top of their lungs that the mini Optimus Prime was finally coming at last. Prowl was a good doorman that was sending everyone away, questions and all, to keep the hall Elita was on as quiet as possible. Ultra Magnus had actually resorted to pacing outside the door where only Elita, Orion, and Ratchet were inside. Arcee was fiddling quietly with a snuggle toy for the new baby, and even the Vehicons were whispering to one another with thinly veiled anticipation. Bumblebee was squealing in general, alternately bugging Prowl for answers or teaming up with Jazz and Smokescreen.

Of course, Knockout had been highly offended that Ratchet didn't want his help, so he was doing laps out on Cybertron's surface to help expel some extra energy.

Inside, things were quite calm. Elita had been ready to go ahead and have the sparkling taken out since he had grown to a satisfactory degree. If anything, it was Orion who was nervous, and he was squeezing Elita's servo so tightly she actually had to tease him about it. But finally, in the end, Ratchet closed Elita's spark chamber doors with a tiny sparkling in his arms squalling at the top of his lungs.

Ratchet smiled, the warmth in his optics stripping years from his frame. He gently placed the sparkling in Elita's arms, saying, "Congratulations, Elita. Orion. You have a strong, healthy young boy."

Cradling his helm in the crook of her arm, Elita actually felt tears bead up in her optics. With a little laugh of wonder, she gently nuzzled the sparkling's forehead, and his screaming immediately died down to sniffles. "He has your color scheme, Orion."

"The white comes from you," Orion replied almost mechanically as he stared at the tiny blue and white sparkling. He reached out his finger, stroking his cheeks gently. The baby's hand grabbed his finger in a tight grip. A tiny smile began to broaden at his mouth. "We made a good-looking sparkling, Elita," he said, smiling wider. "I know every sire and carrier says that, but . . . We made one good-looking sparkling."

Elita smiled smugly, leaning her helm on Orion's shoulder. "Well, I'd say he got most of his looks from me. But I am so glad he got your audios. Oh Matrix, Orion, he's so precious . . . He's so perfect."

Orion's spark swelled, and he hugged Elita while he gently brushed over the fingers holding his own captive. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, he felt all of his emotions suddenly clot in the back of his throat. His neck tightened as he looked down upon this gift of life, and for the first time in his life, found himself utterly speechless. He pressed an impassioned kiss first to the side of Elita's helm and then to the helm of his child.

Ratchet cleared his throat, gathering their attention. The medic was having a great deal of trouble trying to control his smile. "Have you settled on a name yet?"

Elita and Orion looked at each other. There was a pause, and when Orion's brows cinched, he opened his mouth only to be cut off by Elita, "Don't you even start with me, Orion, you know what I want to call him, and I know you want to call him that too."

He was defeated before he started. He expelled a vent and rubbed his brow. "I know, Elita, I just . . . wonder if it is wise."

There was an audible crack, pop, and hiss. Orion looked up to see Ratchet standing shock-still, smoke beginning to pour from his frame as he picked up immediately on what they were saying. Despite having blown another gasket, Ratchet stared at them.

"You are not."

* * *

><p>Orion didn't know how Elita managed to persuade him into these things. He really ought to have gone alone. He understood the logic of taking the sparkling, but Elita . . . ? Right after she was still recovering? He hadn't wanted to take her, but as it was, Elita held a great sway in persuading him.<p>

Looking over the familiar region of Cybertron, Orion wondered for the nth time if he was going to be here. He had debated where he would be for the longest. After having disappeared so many years ago, there was no telling where he was hiding out. He had initially thought Kaon. Where it had all started. But no, he wouldn't go back there. He would never go back there. He would go back to where the source of his greatest mistake lied.

Orion stopped in front of a building. Honestly, he was surprised it was still standing. It leaned, and the roof was completely collapsed on one side. The doors were missing.

It had been . . . millennia since he had set foot inside the High Council Tower. He hadn't dared go back to that place, not after losing his best friend, his brother. It was a place that haunted him; it was a place that haunted Megatron. And that was why he would be there.

Taking a deep ventilation to steady himself, Orion reached back for Elita's servo and began to walk inside. He felt a gentle push at his spark, and he silently assured Elita that he was all right.

The hall was vast. It was a shadow of the regal air it once held as now it stood crumbling in on itself, having sustained extreme damage in the War for Cybertron. The colors were dulled from tarnishing airs and rust. Luck be with them, he didn't hear any scraplets nor could his scanners pick up on any life forms . . . except . . . for one . . .

As Orion retraced the old path he had walked only once before that fateful day, his servo stalled on the door to the Council Chambers. For a moment, he just listened to the silence, and he closed his optics, reliving the hectic day when he and Megatronus had strode through the very same doors to plead their case before the Council. The chambers had been packed shoulder-to-shoulder with citizens of Cybertron. The statues of the original Thirteen lining the hall stood regal in stature, lofty in their build but humble in their optics.

Only one of the Thirteen had been missing. The Fallen. Megatronus Prime. Perhaps he had been blind to the warnings from the beginning. Too blinded by trust and love.

Orion's optics opened, and he stared at the handle, spark beginning to pound in his chassis. Whether from fear or anticipation or dread, he wasn't sure.

Megatron knew they were here.

Grasping the handle, Orion pushed against the door. It squealed loudly on its rusted hinges, and when it proved difficult to open, he let go of Elita's servo to thrust his shoulder into it. Slowly but steadily, the door screeched open wide enough for them to walk through. Immediately, Orion grasped Elita's servo again. He heard his son give a tiny sneeze.

He stood in the center of the room. The very place where he had given his speech. Even with their noisy entrance, he didn't turn back to look at them. He just stood, metal warped with the taint of Unicron lingering in his frame, servos clasped in fists behind his back as he looked up at the empty podium where Halogen had declared Orion the next Prime.

Orion's vents stuttered. Gently, he pulled Elita forward with him, but he stopped halfway to him. Maybe it was lingering traces of Optimus Prime in him telling him that his brother was dangerous and capable of many evils. Maybe he was being overprotective of his mate and his son.

Before he could speak, his counterpart asked a question.

"Why Kaon?"

Orion's vocalizer fused at the sound of his voice. He was forced to clear his throat before he could speak. "I—I'm sorry?"

"Why begin rebuilding in Kaon and not Iacon?"

He felt his servo tightening on Elita's again for support. His conflicted spark felt like two weights were tearing him in half. "Iacon was corrupt," Orion reminded Megatron softly, almost trembling in the wake of his emotions. "You said it yourself. So with the beginning of a new era, we will begin to make change where change began."

He didn't move. He didn't flinch. Bravely, Orion took Elita and his son closer, stepping so close to Megatron that they were within comfortable speaking distance. Megatron's servos tightened before relaxing, and he dropped his hands to his sides. He turned around.

At first, Megatron was taken aback. His red optics flared in unconcealed alarm, almost terror as he looked at Orion, looked at his frame that had reverted to its original form via the emptying of the Matrix of Leadership. Then, he seemed to collect himself, realizing that he wasn't just looking at a specter conjured up by his own imagination. His optics settled on Elita and the sparkling in her arms. The sparkling stared back, curious.

Finally, he inclined his body slightly to her, saying, "Congratulations, Elita. You look positively radiant."

His words immediately brought a pleased flush to the new mother's cheeks. "Thank you, Megatron," she replied quietly.

"No," he cut immediately, almost angrily. His red optics brightened with his passion. "I have no name. I have not earned it. I do not deserve it."

Elita glanced at Orion. Orion pressed his lips together before asking, "Then what should we call you?"

"Nothing," he muttered promptly. His servo clenched up in a fist, and his hand shook with the tension hidden in his frame. "Do not ever mention my name again."

A pained whine echoed in Orion's gears, and he was ashamed to know that it was so deathly quiet in the hall that it was clearly heard by everyone. He closed his optics and breathed in a stabilizing vent, spark splitting with pain because he knew exactly how much a penance like that would take from the warrior before him. Instead of dwelling on it, he gently lifted his son from Elita's arms and held him out to Megatron.

The former Decepticon literally took a step back.

Orion mustered up a smile, but he knew it was strained. There was just . . . so much pain in seeing him again after so long. After all they had been through. "It's all right," he said, optics softening in Megatron's direction. "Here. Hold him."

Confusion radiated from the mech across from him. Confusion, frustration, and anger. Megatron scowled, lip curling, and he shook his head at him. "After all I have done, and you . . . you offer me that? Do the last four millennia mean nothing to you? You would trust your son with me after . . . after I have murdered so many?"

Optical lubricant stung his optics before he could control it. Orion blinked rapidly as his son kicked his legs a bit. "That's the general idea," he teased him lightly. When Megatron didn't come any closer, Orion took another step forward so they were close. He lifted the baby up to Megatron's chassis. "Hold him." When the sparkling suddenly gave a little squeal and reached up to him, Orion gave an overwhelmed laugh. "Come now, he likes you. You have to hold him now."

Megatron stared at the squirming bundle before he looked away, muttering, "I . . . I can't. I . . . don't know how."

Elita's lip pulled at the sight of them, and Orion cradled the baby in the crook of one arm as he helped Megatron position his arms. "It's easy. Just remember to support his helm." Before Megatron could back out of it, Orion had placed the sparkling in Megatron's arms. The former warlord hunched a little protectively over the tiny life form, gingerly and awkwardly holding him even though he fit in the palm of one servo. The baby cooed and snuggled into the warmth of his chassis.

An unsteady vent tripped from Megatron. "What is his name?"

Orion paused and looked back at Elita. His mate smiled and nodded in support, and Orion took a deep breath, turning back to look at Megatron. "We . . . would like to name him after you."

Megatron froze. His burning red optics lifted to Orion, unblinking in their shock and horror. "You can't," he grumbled immediately, arms tightening on the baby. "I won't allow it."

Orion nodded his helm, knowing of the fight Megatron would put up. "We—"

"No," Megatron ground out again, shaking his head. He looked back down at the sparkling curled up in his arms, and with some degree of alarm, realized that he was actually dozing off. "The name of the tyrant that slaughtered innocents and besieged Cybertron until he killed it? No. Call him Optimus."

Patiently, Orion lifted a brow. "The mech that ejected the All Spark and virtually landed the killing blow on Cybertron? The mech that refused to surrender for the greater good?"

Megatron's lip curled in an angry sneer. "Don't try to compare yourself to my mistakes," he snarled. "You have always been the savior of this planet, and I have always been its bane. Do not ever compare us. You are nothing like me."

Orion's gears whined with tension at his cutting words. "What is really in a name, Mega—"

"A reputation," he interrupted bitterly before Orion could use his given name again.

"He won't live the way you were forced to," Orion reminded him gently. "Evil is a choice, and he will be raised with great care, free of slavery." Orion paused as Megatron looked away from him, somehow seeming to look smaller than his frame. Orion swallowed. "A blessing I could never give to you."

Megatron seized in a sharp vent. After a moment of waiting in the quiet hall, he finally rasped, "Why would you want to name him after me?"

"There are many reasons to name him after you," Orion replied, spark softening as he watched Megatron cradle his sleeping son. "Your bravery. Your cunning. Your ability to stand up for what is right. For your love of this planet. For overcoming hardship, and your legendary silver tongue."

Megatron just shook his head. "Do you so wish to taint your son with a soiled name?"

Orion paused. "He would be named for more than just your strong qualities," he finally hedged. He watched, spark softening as one of Megatron's claws ever so faintly touched the sleeping sparkling's cheek. "Megatronus was the name before Megatron, before the corruption." Megatron's head snapped up, and his optics widened in shock at hearing his old name; Orion smiled gently, realizing that he had thought he was naming him "Megatron" this entire time. "Because, no matter what you did, you were the one to uproot the corrupt Senate," Orion continued quietly. "You stood for freedom from oppression, equal rights. That would be what his name would stand for. A better Cybertron."

Megatron shook his head again, staring down at the innocent life in his hands. The child curled up, nestled easily in the palm of his hand. "You know what will be associated with that name," he finally said quietly, looking away.

"We know," Orion said steadily. "And such a name would not soil him. We would be naming him after a revolutionary, a bringer of change and . . ." Orion's optics flickered behind a film of tears. "Most importantly, a brother."

Megatron winced at his words. Finally, he extended the sparkling back to Orion, and the smaller mech took him, bunching him up to his warm chassis. Megatron kept his face turned down and turned away. The large mech shuddered briefly before taking a deep, rasping breath. "You will tell him of me?"

Orion nodded solemnly. "Of course. He must know his namesake."

He witnessed Megatron's jaw tighten. His lips pressed, and tension spread over his frame. "Then . . . Do not mince your words to him. Do not sugar-coat me, or speak in only whimsical affection. Make it clear to him exactly who he is named after: the fallen Prime of old, and of a revolutionary turned warlord. Let him know the good and the bad, the righteous and the evil, and let him make of it what he will."

"It will be as you say."

Megatron nodded, and his servo clenched up. "He . . . will be raised with the freedom to be who he wants to be?" Megatron whispered.

"I promise," Orion told him, "he will be free."

"You will love him?"

"We already do. With all our spark."

Megatron's fists clenched. "And . . . You will teach him right from wrong?"

"I promise."

"And you will let him choose? For better or for worse?"

Orion nodded without hesitation. "For better or for worse." He stared into Megatron's optics unabashedly, communicating to him all he could. "And even if he falls, I will love him regardless and rejoice when he comes back home."

He watched the storm of emotions swirling deep in those red optics. If he looked closely, he could see a wet film beginning to fill his optics. He pressed his lips together and lifted his chin, meeting Orion's optics.

"Then I would be honored for your son to carry my name."

Orion felt his face crumple into a watery smile. Before Megatron could stop him, Orion stepped forward and embraced his brother. His arm wrapped around his belly he was so short in comparison to him, and Megatron froze again at the compassionate gesture. A moment later, and he returned the gesture, a lump lodging in his throat.

Orion released him and looked up at him. "Thank you. I promise, Megatronus will grow up with love, peace, and freedom."

Overwhelmed that Orion would name his son after him even after all he had done shattered his spark. He felt himself crippled by emotion, and he backed up, shaking his head.

"I have to go—"

He fled them before Orion could emotionally ruin him further. He couldn't stop the abominable tears from flooding up after so long, and he fled to weep in peace.

Orion watched him go, unaware that his cheeks were wet with tears until Elita's tender servos wiped them away. Fresh ones replaced them quickly, and Orion pressed his face to hers, trembling. He opened his optics and smiled at her, and she smiled back.

They looked down on their sleeping son. "He bears a great and terrible name," Elita said softly.

Orion kissed her forehead. "I know." Megatronus kicked his chassis in his sleep before settling again. Orion's spark swelled. "He will grow into it. And he will become far greater than either of us ever were."

After looking around the Council Chamber once more, Orion took Elita's servo and began the walk back with her. Halfway across Cybertron by now, a mech with his face buried in his servos swore to protect the young sparkling as much as he could, a guardian angel living in the shadows.

* * *

><p>Honestly, it was a wonder that Perceptor and Wheeljack could get anything done.<p>

They were constantly fighting, mainly because when they insinuated that the other was wrong, it was taken as a personal attack on their intelligence. It resulted in many disagreements, of which it was mainly Wheeljack throwing things and Perceptor dodging them. These kind of arguments usually ended with Perceptor shouting, "Get out of my laboratory!" and Wheeljack stomping out while yelling back, "Gladly!"

On the plus side, there were fewer explosions since Perceptor was there to curb Wheeljack's explosive tendencies. Having so much Cybertronian equipment at their disposal made finding compatible parts for Wheeljack's body much easier which resulted in the mech shorting out less. Ratchet's assisting the project via face time was the only real time that Perceptor and Wheeljack could actually get some work done because the old medibot refused to put up with their squabbling.

Nonetheless, Miko was 24 and Jack was 25 when Wheeljack learned he was going to be a grandpa and he STILL hadn't finished his holoform.

He had gone back to Earth immediately upon hearing that Miko was pregnant. It had been the span of a human month since Elita had finally had Megatronus, and they were getting ready to come back to Earth to see their human friends again too. But Wheeljack? No, he couldn't wait, he came back to Miko immediately. Apparently, he was taking the whole idea of "grandfather" a lot better than Mrs. Darby—she was entirely happy to have a granddaughter, but she was far too young to be called "grandma" yet. Miko and Jack positively glowed with pride and the two successful agents were already planning the baby's room and color scheme. She was having a boy, and Jack wanted blue while Miko wanted green.

Of course, the room was eventually decided on being green.

Wheeljack and Arcee were both on their best behavior with each other during the months they spent together on Earth to see their human partners. More often than not, it was actually Wheeljack that had to leave to get some space. Arcee always seemed like she wanted to say something but never did. Miko even accused him of being a child that couldn't talk about his problems; quite frankly, she was unimpressed by the both of them being stubborn and sweeping the problem under the rug.

Only, it was when he received a transmission from Cybertron with Perceptor urgently saying he'd made a breakthrough that Wheeljack was curious enough—and excited enough—to take a brief trip back to Cybertron. Miko was late in the second trimester of her pregnancy at that point, getting gleeful about feeling him kick.

In the end, Wheeljack was left glaring at Perceptor as the scientist double checked the integrity of the cables attached to Wheeljack's spark.

"You've already checked the damn cables," Wheeljack muttered, crossing his arms and obscuring Perceptor's view. "You've been fiddling and touching and looking so much I'm starting to think you're just wanting the pleasure of groping and gawking at me."

That made Perceptor rear back and wrinkle his olfactory system. "I promise you, Wheeljack," he said with a disdainful sniff, "there is no need for you to flatter yourself. Now would you like to conduct a test run or not?"

"Yes, I would," Wheeljack snapped peevishly back. "Are you sure it's gonna work though?" He frowned, thinking of the dramatic re-wiring Perceptor had show him that almost completely undid their most recent prints. "If you blow me up, I'll come back from the dead to haunt you. And is that cosmitron really necessary?"

"Unless you would like to blow up," Perceptor replied candidly, and he turned around holding the remote that would turn the mechanism on.

Wheeljack snorted sarcastically. "Right, because someone actually found what a cosmitron is REALLY for . . ."

"I'm going to go ahead and proceed with this testing, if that's all right with you, Wheeljack. I'm activating in three—"

"Wait a damn second, what if I'm not ready?" Wheeljack cut in.

"Two—"

"I swear to Primus, Perceptor, when I get out of this—"

"One—"

"I'M GOING TO STRANGLE YOU—"

The jolt caused some internal mechanism to switch in Wheeljack, and he felt his holoform beginning to form. The particles pulled together, but with it, the wiring attached to his spark caused a steady loop of feedback to mingle with the electricity. For one wild moment, Wheeljack felt a charge rise dangerously high and thought he was literal toast for sure, and then a third party began to regulate and stabilize all of the energies. Belatedly, he realized it actually WAS the hunk of cosmitron acting as the level.

That wasn't all, however. Wheeljack's holoform crossed his arms over his chest and hunched his shoulders, snapping, "And since when do you keep it so damn cold in your lab?"

A pleased and smug look crossed Perceptor's features. "Since your holoform finally is responding like a human. Now hold still, we need to check for any bugs."

Wheeljack blinked at Perceptor, and his jaw nearly dropped at what he was implying. Experimentally, Wheeljack pinched his skin—and overestimated his strength because he flinched when the squeezed skin protested with a bright flare of pain.

Wheeljack grinned. "Perceptor, you are a fraggin geni—What the hell is that!" Wheeljack ducked away when Perceptor pointed something entirely too large and sharp at him. "Get that thing away from me!"

"Fascinating," the Cybertronian muttered, and Wheeljack blinked awkwardly at him, suddenly VERY aware of the size difference between a bot and a human. "It's like you've actually turned into a human. You might say your . . . heh, PERCEPTION of things has changed, Wheeljack."

"Haw haw, very funny, Perceptor." When he came at him again with the instrument he was holding, Wheeljack ducked away, flailing his arms. "Put that thing away! What're you trying to do, kill me?"

Perceptor vented with a big huff, and Wheeljack felt the air go over him. "I am TRYING to find out the limitations of your sense of touch."

Before Wheeljack could stop him, Perceptor prodded his upper arm, provoking a very antagonized, "FRAGGIT PERCEPTOR!" In return, Perceptor simply said, "Hold still."

He ducked away from the prodding edge and belatedly realized that, y'know, he wasn't FULLY human, he had his original body for use too. "I can feel just fine, damn it."

"Well, clearly your hearing has been damaged in the transfer because I asked you to hold still. I can't run any tests if—"

"Blah blah blah! Perceptor, I swear to Primus if you don't let me take this on a test run right now, I will find a way to create a bomb that will spew water paint all over your lab." When Perceptor paused, hesitating, Wheeljack dropped his vocalizer an octave. "Don't make me threaten something worse, because you know I'm perfectly capable of fragging up and just blowing up a part of your lab."

He wrinkled his olfactory system. "Fine. Get out." Wheeljack grinned in triumph, disconnecting and grabbing all the parts so he could take it to Earth—Pit knew they were gonna have to get this thing made wireless . . . "But don't come crying to me when something malfunctions, got it!"

Wheeljack flipped a salute over his shoulder and jogged away. That was perfectly fine. He could figure it out from here. First thing first, he had to surprise Miko.

He . . . may or may not have been a little giddy. Years and years of work had finally paid off! He barreled through the ground bridge, entirely too fast for Ratchet's taste and sped along the roads to Jack and Miko's secluded little house in Nevada. Secluded because well, they liked to allow their Cybertronian partners the freedom to transform.

He skidded into the driveway, flinging gravel behind him, and he transformed immediately. "Miko!" he hollered. "Hey, Miko, get out here! You're not gonna believe what I've got!"

It took her a moment to get her butt outside, and Wheeljack had to chuckle when he saw her belly first and then the rest of her body. She was 27 weeks pregnant at this point and showing mightily. She grinned and came down the steps—thank you Primus, she was actually using the railing this time—and came scampering out to meet him. Her agility seemed to not even be effected by her pregnancy.

"Wheeljack! You're back!"

Wheeljack chuckled, leaning down to nuzzle his face to her. He vented over her, chuckling, "Oh look at that, there's a person attached to that belly!"

She swatted at him. "Oh stop it, I'm not THAT fat Wheeljack. Give me another month or two and I'll be REALLY big!"

Wheeljack shook his head in amazement. "I still can't believe you have to gestate for that long. It seems like an eternity for a human."

Miko rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Wheeljack, how long was Elita GESTATING again?" She snorted at the word, laughing openly at his Cybertronian terms.

He waved a hand. "Those years are nothing for a Cybertronian. But nine months seems to be a lot of time for a human, even if they're going by so fast. I swear, it had to be yesterday you told me you were pregnant." It really WAS shocking exactly how quickly the baby was growing. In comparison, it felt like the child was growing too fast. And inside her, for that matter. He didn't realize that humans would, ah . . . stretch so much around the middle. Cybertronians did a little, but not like this. Where Miko was now was about the limit for a Cybertronian. But she still had TWO MORE MONTHS to grow? Possibly even THREE?

"Better news," he said, and he grinned, pulling the parts out from his subspace. When Miko gave him a puzzled look, Wheeljack laughed and said, "The holoform, Babe. We finally finished the holoform!"

She gaped. "You did?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yeah! Thank that stubborn aft Perceptor and Ratchet! Check it out, give me a second to hook up."

He was actually shaking in his excitement. Wheeljack had to physically calm himself so he could properly link up the connections to his spark and the cosmitron—he would never NOT laugh at the idea that a hunk of junk cosmitron was the missing piece to the puzzle . . . Activating the mechanisms and allowing his holoform to form, Wheeljack immediately noticed a breeze washing over his skin. It was . . . pleasant. A lot colder than he thought. The day was warm, and he could feel the heat of the sun on his skin. He felt really . . . sensitive, actually. It was odd.

"Don't move," he said to Miko with a little grin, trying to get used to the feel of it. Also, he knew Miko was prone to jump hugs at any moment, and he didn't want to overwhelm the sensors with sudden contact. He put out his hand, saying, "All right, let's start with a handshake."

She lifted a brow at him, crossing her arms over her stomach. "You didn't let Perceptor run any tests on it, did you?" she said more than asked.

"Course not."

Miko snorted. "Typical." Saying so, she reached out her hand and gave him a handshake.

She was soft. That was his first thought. She was intensely soft, and he could feel the bones in her fingers. Was that normal? And all the little creases in her skin . . . He stared at the point of contact between them, staggered by how intensely BREAKABLE she was. Humans really didn't have a protective outer shell, and he felt his throat lump as he could literally feel her life's blood pumping through her skin. He turned her hand over, brushing a thumb over the veins in her wrist, and he felt her pulse there, pumping steadily. As worrisome as it was to feel her heart pumping so close to the surface of her body without protection, it was also comforting in a strange way to know her heart was beating so strongly.

And she was so SOFT. Her skin was mallable, and it moved and gave him a new impression to the word SQUISHY. He finally gave a soft laugh, and he looked up at Miko who seemed intensely amused at his delight in something as simple as touch.

Wheeljack grinned. "C'mere, Babe!"

Miko squeaked and laughed when he suddenly decided to dive headfirst into human touch by launching a tight hug at her. Her arms wrapped around him with giddy glee as she laughed, and Wheeljack felt the pressure between them, her weight, and her body heat. It almost seemed to dizzy his processor that humans felt THAT much ALL the time. When he plopped her back down—gently, mind you, she was pregnant—Miko grinned at him.

"Hold on, you've gotta feel this. He's been kicking all day."

She grabbed one of his hands, and she waited for a long moment. Wheeljack's pulse slammed in his neck with excitement, and Miko had just begun to mutter something about how he would OF COURSE stop kicking when she suddenly yanked his hand forward.

"There! Feel him?"

Wheeljack gaped when he felt a tiny foot . . . INSIDE of her, hit his hand. His processor immediately spiraled off in the direction that she had almost absolutely NOTHING protecting her son from the outside world, and not to mention how utterly wrong and strange it seemed that her skin was moving where the baby moved—

He yanked his servo away, a fully-body shudder wreaking up and down his spine. "Okay, so for humans that's fantastic," he said, "but for me that is super creepy."

Miko laughed at him, unfazed by his description. "Yeah? Face it, Wheeljack, I bet your programming is just too sensitive right now. How much do you wanna bet I can have you keeled over at the stomach?"

Wheeljack's pride rose up in a fury. "Oh, is that what you think?" he said. He snorted and crossed his arms. "I don't care how sensitive the calibrations are right now, there's no way you'd ever be able to cow me at the waist, Miko. Especially when you're pregnant."

"Oh yeah?" she challenged him, grinning widely at the chance.

"Yeah," Wheeljack said back. He stuck his chest out and pounded on himself, testing the waters. Didn't seem like it was going to hurt. "Give me your best shot, Babe."

Her rakish smile widened. "Think of this as a lesson to NEVER belittle a woman, especially when she's pregnant!"

She wound up immediately and sucker punched him right in his gut. All of the breath gushed out from Wheeljack, and pain flared like a supernova from where she had socked him. Staggering and gasping, Wheeljack curled over himself, nearly toppling to the ground. He would never admit it, but he was sure he had briefly seen some stars.

Miko, on the other hand, was laughing up a storm. "Oh man, I wish I got that one on camera!" She laughed more, but she helped him back up to a stand position, grinning like the Cheshire cat at his wincing. "C'mon Wheeljack, you Cybertronians have got all that armor to protect your precious little protoform! We humans," and she hit her own chest, puffing up with pride, "just gotta suck it up and not be a PANSY."

Wheeljack briefly considered getting his feathers ruffled at being called names, but realized that he really had asked for it. "All right," he wheezed, straightening as much as he could. "You win that round, Babe. Frag. I am never asking for that again."

Miko just chuckled and pointed back to the little house. "I've got an ice pack inside. You might need it for that one."

"I think I'll take you up on that offer," Wheeljack said. Then, he had to smirk at the grin on her face, and he shook his head. "Right. Cables," and he grabbed one, shaking it where he was linked up to his own spark. Weird, how he kept forgetting that.

Miko snickered. "All right, how about you dismiss that one until you can get it wireless and just use the old one so we can sit on the couch and talk? My ankles have been swelling something fierce lately, and it's been pissing me off."

"Sure thing, Babe," he said immediately, actually kinda glad to dismiss the holoform since it was in so much pain. Tucking the parts away in his subspace, Wheeljack transformed down and used his older model of holoform to walk with Miko up to the house. "You've got one helluva swing," he complimented her. He absently rubbed at his stomach, frowning. "Humans sure are breakable, but you guys are really tough to put up with pain like that."

That made Miko grin and shake her head. "Oh man, I can only imagine if you had stubbed your toe. Or worse, stepped on a lego."

He cast her a sideways glance. "What does that feel like?"

"Trust me Wheeljack when I say that you don't wanna know."


	72. Life Persists

**Author's Note:**

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* * *

><p>August 2 dawned dark and chilly at approximately 1:02 a.m. in the morning. A baby's healthy, SHRILL shriek made the doctor immediately comment on his powerful lungs before placing him in his mother's arms.<p>

Wheeljack had to resist the urge to barrel straight through the doctor when he was finally allowed into the room. That is, allowed in the room after Mrs. Darby, and Mr. and Mrs. Nakadai. It had been a little packed in the room, and when Mrs. Darby hurried off in a tizzy to prepare things at the house a little more, Mr. Nakadai briefly leaving for an important phone call, Jackson Anderson piled into the room with Raf, Mrs. Davis, and Arcee's holoform.

Trying his hardest not to make things awkward with the lithe form of the black haired holoform behind him, Wheeljack had to grin when Mrs. Davis went swooping to the bed where a tired but positively glowing Miko was laying. "Ohh, let me see him, let me see—_Ohh_ he's simply _precious_ Miko. And such a head full of hair!"

Miko laughed as Mrs. Davis fawned over the newborn, and she leaned up a little to look for Wheeljack. Her face seemed a little pale, a little drained, and her hair was clearly finger-combed back into place, but her cheeks glowed and her honey eyes sparkled. "Jackie! Come here, come here!"

His neon blue eyes flicked to Mrs. Nakadai sitting primly in the corner, smiling at the people that came flooding in to meet the new baby, and Wheeljack cleared his throat, approaching the bedside. Miko turned her arm out some, showing him a tiny bundle. "Jackie, meet Lucas Chen Darby. Affectionately named after both grandfathers on the mother's side."

Wheeljack leaned over, and his spark skipped a beat and gentled at the sight of a sleeping baby in her arms. He reached out a finger and stroked the babe's chubby cheeks, anxious to get his holoform fully wireless so he could know exactly how soft his skin was. Rumor had it, a newborn baby's skin was the softest ever. He breathed out slowly through his nose, entranced far beyond any words.

Miko poked his arm. "Wanna hold him?"

"Hold him?" Wheeljack repeated, reeling back with no small amount of alarm. His action made Miko laugh, and he watched her try to stifle it so she wouldn't wake the baby.

"It's easy, Jackie. See how my arm's hooked under him? Like that. Just remember to support his head. Easy. Even YOU can manage it."

Wheeljack muttered something under his breath when she got some chuckles out of the gathered people, and he reached for Lucas before pulling his hands back. His eyes flicked up to Miko. "Are you sure?" he asked again, just to be certain. "I mean, I've never held a baby before—"

"Jackie," Miko said dryly, "I assure you, that as long as you're not going to drop him, you can hold him. He won't bite. Actually, he might, but only when he's awake. Besides, he doesn't have teeth, so nothing to worry about."

Wheeljack swallowed. "What if I drop him?"

"Jackie, you're not going to drop him. Now hold him. Mom, can you get the camera rolling? I want to remember this."

Huffing one more time, muttering something under his breath about no pressure, Wheeljack ever so carefully used both hands to pick up the swaddled baby. His palms were big in comparison to the child, and he secured Lucas in the crook of his arm with some help from Miko.

Lucas barely stirred. He just curled up a little more, kicking slightly beneath the blanket and resting. As Wheeljack held him, he felt a lump forming in his throat. This . . . This was his grandbaby. He was a grandpa. Pit, maybe the name did make him feel old, he guessed Mrs. Darby had a point there, but . . . Primus, he was a grandfather.

He cleared his throat conspicuously, suddenly realizing that every eye was glued to him and all conversation had stopped. "Y-You kids made one good lookin' kid," he finally rasped, clearing his throat again. A tiny wisp of hair peeked out from under the baby's cap, so Wheeljack gently pushed it back under.

Jack was the one that grinned, chest puffed out proudly. "He gets his looks from his father."

Miko immediately hit at him, fist smacking his side without much real force. "Oh shut up, you know I did all the work and that baby has all of my looks, including the almond eyes."

Jack smirked and lightly socked her back. Suddenly feeling a bit choked up, Wheeljack blinked and looked around for anyone to save him. "Here, wanna hold him, Sadie?"

Arcee blinked in surprise that he had spoken to her directly, but nodded. "Of course," she said, immediately coming forward, eagerly taking Lucas from his arms. Wheeljack felt his shoulders deflate in relief. It was going to take some getting used to, this holding-the-baby business.

Lucas was passed around and held by everyone before he finally made it back to Miko. The women talked a whole lot more than the men. Wheeljack shouldered Jack, and Jack shouldered him back. Kid was going to make a good father. Miko was hungry. Wheeljack volunteered himself to find a vending machine and get her a snack.

Holding the bill in his hand, Wheeljack stared at the assortment of junk food before him. She really needed something more nutritious after having a baby, he thought. He hummed low in his chest, perturbed as he considered what to get her.

"Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack jumped in surprise, ready immediately to correct them that his name was "Jack Anderson" (he WAS still undercover as human after all) but that thought died on his lips when he saw Arcee's holoform walk up to him.

It really wasn't fair that her human form was just as beautiful as her real body. Her hair, so black it almost shined blue, was cut short in a bob cut. Her build was exactly the same, slender and curvy with a waist that fit perfectly in Wheeljack's palm. But the damning feature was her eyes, just as intense and passionate as ever.

He cleared his vocalizer awkwardly. "Uh, hey, Arcee."

Arcee grabbed her elbow and shrugged slightly. "Miko wants chocolate."

His lips twitched before he could stop it. "Of course she does." There were several selections of chocolate. He stared at them for some time, not really seeing them before Arcee spoke again.

"Wheeljack . . . Are you really not changing your mind about this?"

He felt his shoulders slump as if it were a physical blow. The hallway was all but deserted in the early hours of the morning. Wheeljack swallowed, feeling like he was choking on acid for having to repeat it. "Yeah, Angel," he said softly. "I'm serious."

She crossed her arms and looked away. "But . . . You're spark's been doing better."

"Doesn't matter what it's doing right now," Wheeljack reminded her gruffly. The dollar bill crumpled in his tight grip. "It's what happens . . . when Miko . . . That's what counts."

His jaw ticked as he stared at his reflection in the thick plastic vending machine cover. He didn't dare look at her. He couldn't. He heard her give a tiny sigh.

"I see . . ." His pulse pounded in his ears. The silence was too loud. Ever word, every breath, it cut so loud. "Well . . . If it matters, I haven't given up on you. If you ever change your mind . . . I'll be there."

She stepped to him and leaned up on her toes, kissing his tense jaw. Hers lips were soft and sweet. Wheeljack's pulse slammed harder at the faithful devotion, and she quietly left, footsteps leading down the hall and out of sight. His eyes squeezed shut, and he slammed his fist against the vending machine.

"Damn it," he rasped to himself. He nearly shook with the emotion he denied himself. He pounded on the machine again, forehead plunking on the plastic. "Primus fragging damn it . . ."

* * *

><p>Life simply moved too fast.<p>

It felt like Wheeljack had just witnessed Lucas speak his first words, toddle his first steps, give him his ride to his first day of kindergarten, and then all of the sudden Miko was pregnant again. When a five year old Lucas realized he was going to have a sibling, he was precious, patting Miko's stomach and saying he'd be a good big brother and teach the baby everything he knew—especially that chocolate ice cream was better than vanilla ice cream and the best toppings weren't sprinkles but M&Ms.

In those five years, Wheeljack and Arcee had been babysitters quite a bit for Lucas while Jack and Miko worked, functioning as liaisons between the humans and Cybertronians. Peace was beginning to flourish on Cybertron with new arrivals slowly pouring in and even some surrendering Decepticons that, while bitter they lost, were sincerely glad that the fighting was over. They were given a fair new start, albeit that they were watched a touch more closely than others.

Springer had actually fallen into the role of mining energon with surprising aplomb. Wheeljack would have never expected the Wrecker for it, but apparently Springer fell in love with the Vehicons. He called them spunky, and said they were so much fun. He was really tickled about their personalities, and names like Sam, Joe, Ashley, and Ron. He enjoyed the Vehicons so much he stayed in the position even when someone offered to relieve him of it, and besides, he liked Earth's atmosphere—apparently, it was nicer to fly in.

That, and Wheeljack was on Earth, and they got to see each other a whole lot.

And, with Miko's pregnancy, February 17 dawned extremely early as well with twin baby girls. Jia June Darby and Liana Li Darby—both named after their mothers on either side—came into the world. Lucas was mind-boggled that he had TWO little sisters. And with his holoform fully wireless, Wheeljack experienced a baby's skin for the first time—he spent more time stroking their cheeks than was probably prudent. He held his granddaughters in both crooks of his arms, spark hammering about whether the girls would end up extremely feminine and make him unsure of how to play with them or if they would end up just as roughhousing as their mother and Lucas.

Turned out, they were a curious combination of both feminine and tomboyish. One minute, Wheeljack was having a tea party, the next, HE was apparently the damsel in distress as Jia and Liana and Lucas all whacked each other with Styrofoam swords.

Watching them grow up in the Darby household was a treat for sure. Jia loved school and Liana hated it, and Lucas boasted over straight A's. Jia tripped and scraped her knee and cried; Liana broke her leg by falling out of a tree and complained the entire car ride to the hospital; Lucas said he was too awesome to hurt himself, and three days after the broken leg, promptly sliced his leg on something outside and had to get stitches in his knee.

Miko swore up and down Lucas got his cocky nature from his father while Jack defended himself that Lucas' stubborn streak came from her.

Apparently, Elita and Orion were having similar issues with Megatronus who was as curious as a cat. The first time they lost him, he was finally found crawling around in the ventilation shafts. The second time they lost him, he was in a construction zone, playing with and chewing on a large screw. The third time they lost him, they found him in Perceptor's lab about to find out how to turn on a welder while it was facing his eyes.

Elita huffed something about putting a tracker on him. Orion just sighed in relief and nuzzled his frazzled spark mate.

Despite having been against Megatronus' name at first, Ultra Magnus quickly looked past that and became a doting uncle that loved to watch him play while he worked. Ratchet was a doting godfather that was ecstatic whenever they came to visit. In fact, Megatronus became quite the celebrity on Cybertron: son of the last Prime, named after Megatron. For the most part, when others came upon Megatronus, one couldn't help but be turned by how cute and innocent he was. Others carried their cold shoulder, saying, "Just you wait. He'll turn out just like Megatron with that cursed name." Elita and Orion protected him from the angry backlash as well as they could, knowing that he was still a baby and too young to fully understand.

Lucas turned ten, and two weeks later, Raf got married. Jack and Miko (now 36 and 35 respectively) had a whole lot of fun teasing the 32 year old that he had certainly taken his time, to which Raf pushed his glasses back up on his nose and said she was worth the wait. Gwen Ellis Esquivel was a 28 year old tech that had been transferred into Raf's division with long blond hair, green eyes, and glasses even bigger than Raf's. The pair was fit to be and too cute to be realistic.

When Lucas turned thirteen, he brought his first girlfriend home. Liana and Jia sabotaged the relationship immediately by putting crickets in the girl's backpack. Miko and Arcee were cross; Wheeljack and Jack just tried to keep their snickering to a minimum.

Miko and Jack had some fights, the most intense one Arcee and Wheeljack never knew the cause of. It had worried them for those two weeks where the couple had barely tolerated each other and only in the presence of their children. Wheeljack was used to having Miko or Jack coming to him for advice, Arcee the same, so when they kept the argument to themselves, it was just a touch more alarming. However, one morning Miko came out of the bedroom humming and Jack came out in high spirits, so the argument was clearly over.

Wheeljack had a hunch what had happened, but he definitely didn't dwell on the thought.

It was when Miko was 40 (dear Primus, the years were going by too fast, she couldn't be that old), Lucas 15, and the twins 10 that Ratchet's bane met him.

The Lambo twins were back. And they wanted to check out Earth.

Ratchet was beside himself with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. They broke traffic laws, scanned the most expensive Lamborghini they could (that being the latest Veneno model), and openly harassed humans. Ratchet had to stress numerous times to deaf audios that while humanity was now aware of the alliance they had with Cybertronians, they were still robots in disguise. He couldn't have them roughhousing around and making a bad name for Cybertronians.

Of course, that meant they had to go immediately to California's Malibu beach and make their biggest appearance yet. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker turned their charms on high and swept the beach with their stunt driving, transforming, and creating good waves for the surfers that were having a low tide day. They flirted with the female humans and male alike, attracted more people with their sleek alt modes, and let bikini-clad women clean them up with a hand wash to get the salt of the sea off of them. The day ended with an angry Ratchet storming in on the scene, snagging both Lambo twins by their audios, and dragging them through the ground bridge.

In the hullabaloo that Agent Fowler had to deal with after they made themselves celebrities at Malibu, the Lambo twins were sent to the Darby's place for a timeout in the desert.

Which, was somehow not a timeout at all.

Out of everything to happen, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker fell in LOVE with Jia and Liana. Sideswipe immediately teamed up with the younger tomboy Liana while Sunstreaker ended up growing a soft spot for the minutes older Jia. Liana's daring and recklessness appealed to Sideswipe; Jia's more mature and becoming decidedly more feminine personality appealed to Sunstreaker as she pampered his looks.

No matter how you twisted it, the human twins became glued to the Lambo twins' sides. Collectively, they all loved drag racing out back and pulling pranks on Wheeljack and Arcee. One prank went too far—of course, Sideswipe's idea—and Wheeljack had to throttle him for it, to which Ratchet throttled him for causing damage to Sideswipe and more work for him. Only then did the disgruntled medic finally fix them both.

Jia and Liana were both conspiring how to keep the Lambo twins on Earth forever—they were already planning to have them as their flashy rides when they got old enough to drive. Lucas, on the other hand, scoffed at them and continued working hard each summer, determined to earn enough money on his own to get his first car. However, that didn't mean he didn't LIKE practicing his driving with the Lambo twins. Every time they got out of sight of the house, they may or may not have let him speed.

That being said, when Lucas turned 17 and was heading into his senior year of high school, his parents rewarded his hard work and savings and helped him get his first car which was a slightly used Mustang. Lucas prided himself on the blue car with the custom faded white racing stripes and took wonderful care of it. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker picked on the little car, commonly calling it a jalopy, but Lucas ignored them.

Lucas went to the prestigious private university California Institute of Technology with a full ride, intending on getting a degree in Astronomy; a major in astronomy and a minor in Geological and Planetary Systems. He said with the way technology was advancing and the government already was in an alliance with Cybertron that the days of space travel were soon to be upon them, and he wanted to be a part of that. In the meantime, Jia went through a gothic phase while Liana went through a punk rock phase. Wheeljack had so many nostalgic flashbacks about Miko at their age that he actually made his spark sick because Miko was well into her 40s at this point and about to knock on 50's door.

Getting Liana through high school was like pulling teeth while Jia passed with even better grades than Lucas as well as becoming Valedictorian. Both girls DID end up charming the Lambo twins enough that they stuck around—besides, until Cybertron's underground racing was back in full swing, all they had back at home was work. Why go back to Cybertron when they could goof off on Earth? (Besides, Ultra Magnus and Prowl would much rather the Lambo twins stay on Earth as LONG as they liked. Forever, in fact.) As such, when the twins graduated, they went in vastly different directions: Liana became a professional stunt driver with Sideswipe while Jia, half-Chinese with a bad-ass bob cut, was well on her way to becoming a part of the CIA with a sick ride; a.k.a. Sunstreaker.

Lucas was fixing up and customizing his Mustang. He didn't need a Cybertronian to have a hot car, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to have a hot car. Good tastes in cars came in the family. Good taste in women came in the family. He had a girlfriend, Anastasia Perez—Anna, please don't call her Anastasia ever—who was a brunette with thunder thighs that was apparently sassing Lucas so much about the things she knew that he didn't that he blushed. She may have been a year older than him, leading to her seniority of knowledge. They probably one too many study dates to actually be prudent—more like studying each other.

Liana nearly immediately got a boyfriend after she graduated high school. At eighteen she brought in Andrew King, a twenty-three year old with a strong jaw covered in stubble and built like a hunk. The stunt driver had been put through a serious drilling by Wheeljack and was given quite a scare by the territorial grandfather who was a Cybertronian. Needless to say, he promised to keep his hands to himself and be an upstanding gentleman. Sideswipe also promised that he could keep a good eye on them for Jack, making the father feel better that she was going to have supervision while she was dating a man five years older than her.

Two years after the girls graduated high school , Miko turned fifty. Just like they had done with Jack, there was a party with excessively old stereotypes and black roses to accompany them hitting half a century. It made Wheeljack's spark sicker, and he made sure to visit Ratchet and make sure he was doing fine still, which he was.

Somewhere in the mix of Miko's fiftieth year, Arcee took the time to comfort Wheeljack when he had driven for hundreds of miles away. It seemed, getting away had been a mistake. He still wasn't sure when he had kissed her or how they were suddenly in their protoform, but he knew explicitly the night that had ensued and waking up with Arcee sprawled on his chassis.

Liana married first. After dating Andrew for four years she was engaged and married by 23. Wheeljack actually ended up liking the car buff a whole lot, probably even more than Jack did, which was saying something. They headed off on a honeymoon to Spain to sight see, be lovey-dovey, and also see the running of the bulls. Miko was freaking out about if Liana was going to come back pregnant. Fifty-three was far too early to be a grandmother! Luckily for her, Liana didn't want to get pregnant anytime soon because it would interfere with her racing and stunt driving career.

Lucas was 32 when he finally became engaged to his girlfriend of eight years. Anna had graduated with her Ph.D and he had immediately put a ring on her finger. The following year, after he graduated, he married her. They were settled in their house and comfortable in their careers for a full year before Anna became pregnant.

Not even a week later, 29 year old Liana found out she was pregnant.

The babies were due only a month apart from each other. Wheeljack nearly had an aneurysm that he was going to be GREAT-grandfather while Arcee was taking it perfectly in stride while teasing Jack about being a grandpa and plucking at his grey hairs. Jack asked his mother what she felt about being a great-grandmother, and June promptly replied that as long as she was still kicking to bring on all the babies they wanted.

Three and fourth months into the pregnancies, June passed away.

She was found in her rocking chair with a book on her lap, having quietly passed when no one was watching. The doctors found no explanation for it since she had been a healthy woman even in her old age. Of the original crew on Earth, they all came back, Orion and Elita and Bumblebee—all of them. They all paid their respects at the funeral, Orion himself saying words that cut to the core, regal and reverent as always.

As these kind of things were, when everyone brought food to the Darby household, it was a sort of bittersweet reunion. Bumblebee and Raf caught up again, chattering away and Gwen being enraptured by the new warrior. Mrs. Davis was astounded at how little Megatronus had grown as he was just reaching a toddler's age, to which Elita was able to smile and tell her more about a sparkling's growth. Jazz had come even without knowing June simply because Prowl had come, and he did a swell job at cheering the household up some. When prodded by Arcee, Prowl did admit that he asked Jazz to come for that reason alone.

Ultra Magnus played with Megatronus who was the center of attention for many of the humans present. Smokescreen was having a friendly argument with the Lambo twins that he could beat them in a race, to which Knockout was eyeing up Sunstreaker—Sunstreaker glared right back. Miko gazed across the yard where Orion and Jack sat beneath a tree, deep in conversation with one another.

As it was, life continued on. Liana and Anna grew more pregnant until Anna had a fine baby boy. Shortly after, Liana had a girl. When Wheeljack's holoform cuddled Eric to sleep and Arcee cuddled Kimberly to sleep, he could only heave a heavy sigh. Great-grandfather. Primus. He kissed the babe's soft cheeks, gently laid him down in his crib, and evacuated the room.

Years passed. Babies grew into toddlers and Jia finally admitted that there was a male at the CIA that she was trying her best not to get involved with. It went without saying that she was failing. Miko soon developed arthritis, compliments of her still playing her guitar to the day. Jack inherited the heart problems his family had; he didn't like giving up salty potato chips. Raf had to have eye surgery, but afterwards, he didn't have to wear any glasses but reading glasses. You could still catch him trying to push up non-existent glasses.

Raf—who had had the most kids, totaling with five—became a grandpa next and he nearly had a stroke when he had triplet granddaughters. Gwen just laughed and cooed over the three girls while Raf tried to help out as best as he could. The Darby household, since it was so secluded and had such a large yard, became the common gathering place for play dates for all the kids running around.

Time passed with much more laughing than crying. Mrs. Davis soon passed with breast cancer and Miko's parents were lost in a car crash. Jia got married at a late age to Donald Brown, a thin computer tech with black-rimmed glasses and allergies to almost every food on the planet. A swing set and a pool were added to the Darby house. More than once on hot days they found Sideswipe had dunked himself in it like a giant tub, just for him. A whole lot more birthday parties and anniversaries; a criminal amount of toys and Barbies and action figures and plastic cars. Bicycles replaced when they were left out and a Cybertronian stepped on them. Spark failure at watching Miko getting older and older. Riotous laughter at Thanksgiving when Miko forgot to put the pie in the oven to cook it and used salt instead of sugar in the cake. Driving lessons from the vehicles themselves. All their covers blown when paparazzi followed stunt driving star Liana back to the Darby house and that every vehicle there was a Cybertronian—

That is, except for a blue and white striped Mustang. Lucas prided himself on the old wreck more than was prudent and with a replacement engine and god knew how many other fixes to transmission and breaks and paint, he kept the thing running.

Liana had to protect her legitimacy as a stunt driving race star by using a car that wasn't a Cybertronian—as she had "cheated" because the alien drove for her. Needless to say, Sideswipe had let her do the driving all along, and she managed to win the gold like usual with a regular race car. She retired on her high note in her career, but still continued to free race her twin sister and Sunstreaker with Sideswipe.

Then, the tragedy of old age began to plague the Darby family.

It hit hard and swift when Jack, at age 77, died of a heart attack. He was rushed to the hospital, but to no avail. Orion spoke at his funeral too, a regal voice laced with sorrow and words of hope. That night, Wheeljack sat under the large tree in the backyard, holding Miko in his hand. She cried and cried, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

She curled up, the corners of her eyes beset by crow's feet and wrinkles settling in for the stay in her once smooth skin. Wheeljack's pulse slammed in his neck, terrified at the encounter with death. Miko could be next. Jack—it seemed only yesterday he had been telling the boy not to screw it up with Miko. He hadn't. He had done so fragging right by Miko. Wheeljack, however . . . He looked off down the driveway towards the road. Arcee had left on a drive hours ago. She still wasn't back.

He heard Miko sniffle, a box of tissues in her lap and a litter of crumpled ones in her lap. "We were planning on going to see the Great Wall," she finally said. She leaned tiredly on his chassis. "We'd meant to go for forever, but with all the kids never really got a chance."

Wheeljack suppressed a tremble and gently stroked her cheeks. "You gonna be all right, Miko?" he finally asked gruffly.

She blew her nose again and nodded. "Yeah . . . If I've got you, I can truck through anything, I just . . . Daddy, I'm going to miss him so much . . ."

Wheeljack closed his optics, spark squeezing in pain. "I know, Babe."

She shook her head, beginning to cry again. "I—I can't bear the thought of going to bed without him there. He's always been there, Dad, and now . . . and now . . ."

He vented softly, scooping her closer. "I know, Babe. I know . . ."

Miko sniffled again, wiping her nose with a tissue before honey eyes looked up at him. "Wheeljack . . . My kids . . . They're the best things that've happened to me. And—I want you to have some kids too."

His spark leapt into his throat at the sudden change of conversation. "I—Wh-What—?"

Miko shook her head at him. "Don't act like that. You're great with the kids. And I just . . . You deserve your own family, Wheeljack." She shrugged, holding out her hands that were wrought with arthritis. "This made me think. And Wheeljack, after living my life—"

He winced, vocalizer cracking as he interrupted, "Please—Miko please, don't talk like that."

"It's going to happen one day," she reminded him softly, touching his chassis. "And I can say, after living for so long, it's worth it, Jackie. The kids are worth it, the marriage—it was worth it, all the risks were worth it. And just because my life is gonna end soon doesn't mean yours has to. So I want you to promise me that you'll kick Death's can and keep on living for me."

Wheeljack squeezed his optics shut. His free hand clenched into a fist against his trembling, and he rasped, "Babe . . . I—I can't promise that."

"Then at least promise me that you'll try, Jackie. Have a slew of mini-Wheeljack's that fritz Ratchet's circuits, he needs that kind of love."

His vocalizer tightened with the threat of tears. Pressing his lips together and turning his face away from the cool night breeze, Wheeljack whispered, "I promise."

"Good." They fell silent for some time, comforted by one another's presence. Miko soon began to sniffle again. She shook her head, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. "Jackie? We—I was going to take him to see the Great Wall. He'd never seen it before, and we had it all planned out . . ."

"I know, Babe," he said softly, gently stroking the taunt muscles in her back. "You just told me."

A small blush graced her cheeks with a little bit of color. "I knew that," she defended herself. "Forgot. Sorry."

"It's all right, Miko. Don't worry about it. It'll all be okay . . ."

He comforted her until it was late and she finally left to go to bed. Wheeljack sighed to himself and hitched up his legs, leaned his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his palms. He sat that way until he had almost lulled himself to recharge, but the small rev of a familiar engine made his helm lift. Arcee rolled towards him until she came to a rest directly in front of him. She transformed and stood, fists and jaw clenched. When she failed to say anything, Wheeljack felt his spark break.

He reached out, tugging her to his lap. "Come here," he murmured to her.

She broke at the knees and collapsed into his chassis, shaking with silent tears. Wheeljack collected her close to him, dropping tender kisses on top of her helm. Her chest heaved with strained gasps as she wept silently, beating on his chassis.

"I know," he whispered softly, stroking her back. He pressed his face to the top of her helm. "I'm sorry."

* * *

><p>Age crept in on Miko far more stealthily than it had Jack. For years, no one suspected, though something seemed off. At age 79, Miko was diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer's Disease.<p>

At first, Wheeljack hadn't known what the disease was. He'd never heard of it, so he had to have someone explain it to him. When he finally understood, he felt sick. When he heard there was no cure, he was terrified. No matter how you spun it, it was going to be a long and painful fading for Miko. It was the last thing he had wanted for her.

Miko proclaimed almost immediately that she might as well get her wrinkly butt into a elderly home. She left the house to whichever child needed it the most, packed up some clothes, a stack of photo albums, her favorite chair, her guitar and mini amp, and some fluffy blankets for warmth and moved into an elderly home. Amongst her things as he helped her pack, Wheeljack did notice her take one of Jack's button ups and a harmonica she couldn't play.

The place she moved into was nice and roomy and comfortable. She could go outside as long as someone was with her (Alzheimer patients tended to want to wander off) and she was full of enough life that it infected the other patients. She gained new friends quickly and they even had a game consol for the patients to play to keep them in motion, and she got to show off her video game skills. She quickly found a rival in one of the males there. She had to add pictures and curtains to her room because it was so white and reminded her of a hospital, but her room became, well . . . quite roomy. She slipped into the next stage of her life with grace and her typical lust for life.

Wheeljack practically moved into the elderly home with her since he visited her every day and sometimes even recharged in the parking lot, but no one seemed to mind.

She had many visitors, both Cybertronian holoforms and humans alike. Ratchet came in and checked on her regularly, periodically running a scan on her that would make her immediately whine like she was a child again. She even got Elita and Orion to visit her, to which she could only get caught up in stitches and compliment Orion that he was much too handsome as a human.

Life . . . persisted. Years slowly passed, and the disease slowly became more apparent in Miko. It aggravated her aggression, causing her to hit several patients and get her sent to the hospital to have her mental stability questioned. She repeated herself in conversations, talking about the same events over and over. Her arthritis was making it difficult for her to hold the video game controller and nearly impossible to play her guitar anymore. Every night, she looked through her photo albums to say everyone's names and not forget anyone. She struggled with the many, many grandchildren, and it made Wheeljack's spark sink. Eventually, she began to struggle with more people than just the grandchildren.

By the time she was 83, Wheeljack found out that Ratchet was trying to desperately make a cure. After that, if Wheeljack wasn't visiting Miko, he was found with Ratchet. They poured over medical lab sheets, studied human anatomy and biology, and brainstormed so intently that you could hear their internal mechanisms whir in the silence.

At 85, a full six years of being diagnosed with Alzheimer's, Wheeljack despondently left the elder's home. Instead of calling Ratchet for a bridge, he broke his routine and drove. He drove far, and he drove fast. Arcee was at Liana's today because the grandkids were over—with one expecting a GREAT-grandchild. Wheeljack's spark pained even as it softened at the prospect of another child. He'd be a great-great-grandfather. His spark squeezed. He didn't know if he could take that, watching all of them grow up only to watch them die . . .

When he made it to the house, he found Arcee on her knees, watching a row of children and teenagers alike playing red rover. She looked up when Wheeljack transformed and walked towards her.

Immediately, Wheeljack was assaulted with high-pitched squeals and hellos of excitement since it had been too long since his last visit. Trying to placate them quickly, he was aware he was coming off a touch too uncaring, but he couldn't help it. He grabbed Arcee's hand, tugging her along with him, and she followed without any prompting.

He brought them out of sight of the family for privacy. He sat down, and Arcee knelt across from him. She squeezed his servo.

"Wheeljack, what's wrong?"

Fighting the tears, Wheeljack grabbed her hands and pressed them to his face, trying to keep them from falling. "Arcee," he rasped gruffly, "she . . ." He sucked in a tight vent, winglets perking straight and armor beginning to shake. "Arcee, she . . . Primus, sh-she looked right at me and she didn't know who I was!"

He was openly weeping now. He hadn't know how much that was going to . . . HURT. He thought he had prepared himself for that inevitable outcome, but no amount of preparation could have braced him for it. Arcee's servos reached around him to lace behind his neck, and Wheeljack buried his face into her chassis, fighting his tears. She held him as he quaked, and Wheeljack wrapped his arms around her, overwhelmed by the recent tragedy in his life.

His spark was . . . slowly coming undone again. He was fairly sure he had just cracked open the fractures that had once healed over. Agony poured through him, and he sobbed into Arcee, breaking under the weight of his sorrows. He was tired of watching her waste away. He was tired of watching her lose basic functions like using a fork or the buttons on a remote. He was tired of her looking at her family and not knowing who they were.

Fingers digging into Arcee's back for support, Wheeljack groaned, "Why . . . Why, Angel, why . . ."

She shushed him, wetness stinging her own optics for his pain. "I don't know," she murmured. Her fingers spread and tightened with comfort over his neck, and after her throat bobbed, tenderly kissed the top of his helm. "I don't know, love . . ."

A gritted sob escaped his vocalizer. Wheeljack clenched his jaw tightly, struggling to hold it back as Arcee whispered sweet nothings to him. He trembled, tears dripping into her armor.

"I can't cure it . . . I can't fix it . . . I shouldn't have to watch my baby girl waste away . . ."

It took him far too long to die down to system hiccups. Arcee's touch gently caressed him, soothing him slowly as he wrestled with his emotions. His white-knuckled grip on her finally relaxed, and he scooped her close, slumping over.

"Thanks, Angel," he whispered gruffly. But he didn't let go of her. He relished in her closeness, his aching spark missing her something fierce.

Her lips kissed the top of his helm again, unintentionally rubbing salt in a raw wound. Wheeljack's optics shuttered as he buried his face into her chest. He released a jagged vent, thumb stroking along one of her winglets. "Are you all right?" she breathed.

He vented roughly against her. "No," he rasped. He squeezed his optics shut tighter, vocalizer shaking as he remembered all of the lives he had lost, ever since the beginning. For some reason, Bulkhead seemed even farther away than he ever had before. "And I don't know if I ever will be."

* * *

><p>Despite it all, Wheeljack returned the very next day to Miko. To his shock, she knew exactly who he was that day.<p>

He didn't have the spark to tell her she had forgotten him.

Left knowing that Miko may or may not even remember who he was, it made Wheeljack feel sick with apprehension every time he came to visit her from that day on. However, he doggedly kept coming, believing that the only reason she could still remember him was because of his visits. Her children and grandchildren came less often. She didn't know them anymore, and it was hard for them. Wheeljack had to spend time assuring them that it was all right that they didn't come often anymore. He knew their struggle, and he promised them that he was looking after her.

Somehow, someway, she grew older. Wheeljack watched in the wake of his pain at how many more wrinkles she accumulated, the gnarling of her fingers, and the shake of her hands . . . Her honey eyes grew dull and lethargic, and along with that, her spirit. She lost more and more basic functions. The nurses had to feed her by hand, bathe her, and help her go to the bathroom. Wheeljack couldn't even have a full conversation with her anymore. Her mind was elsewhere, and her words were halting because she couldn't remember the words and had troubles remembering how to speak. She slept more and more and more. She forgot him more and more until days where she remembered him were blessings.

On a day where he was watching her sleep, he despaired. He bowed his head over and wept by her side. She stirred at some point and began to stroke his hair. He didn't lift his head. He didn't want to know whether or not she remembered who he was this time. It was enough to know that her compassion was still instinct, and he took comfort in her ministrations.

The years crawled by, bagged down with woe. As Miko slowly wasted away, Wheeljack's spark became weaker and weaker. Ratchet could do little to bolster the strength of Wheeljack's spark as the Wrecker was beginning to give up all hope. Though he knew it was folly at this point, Ratchet continued to try and find a cure for the disease.

Regardless, Wheeljack continued to speak with her. He told her all about her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. He told her all about Springer, Twin Twist, and Topspin, and all about his Wrecking crew. He still told her war stories and stories about her life. He told her all about Bulkhead. He liked to think that his voice still connected with an innate part of her, and that it soothed her; some days it seemed like it did, some days she was just unresponsive.

At age 93, Wheeljack continued to tell Miko he loved her.

And, sometimes, Miko would try to tell him stories. Wheeljack listened attentively as she did so, holding her hand. She was cold.

"And . . . he took the—you know . . . and—" She gave a weak laugh, giving a frail nod of her head. "And he—Funny! And he—with the . . . you know . . ."

Wheeljack forced a haggard smile to his face at the same ordeal. "Yeah, I bet it was real funny," he said to her. He wondered what part of her childhood she was reliving. Was it one of Twist and Spin's pranks? Or further back? A memory he hadn't even participated in?

Her lips pulled in the effort to try and smile. She gave him another halting nod, clearly forgetting the word "yes". "And he . . . w-with the . . . And hit him!" Wheeljack leaned in a little closer when her words became a little more garbled, and he stroked a stray white hair from her face. "With the . . . you know . . . he took it . . ."

"I know," Wheeljack repeated, smile straining. He could feel his face collapsing again, but Miko was too far gone to notice. As it was, he could only take heart that she seemed to be having a better day than the past week or two. "It was really funny, wasn't it?"

Her face seemed to alight that he had guessed right. She tried to smile again and nod. "Funny!"

Wheeljack waited for her to continue, but she didn't. Instead, she laid back on her pillows, staring around her colorful room with a sort of curious wonder. Wheeljack cleared his throat to catch her attention again. "Miko?"

She looked back over to him and seemed to realize she was holding his hand. She frowned, and she took her hand away. Wheeljack tried not to wince. He was a stranger again. "Hello. My name's Jackie."

Miko's brows cinched. "Who?"

"Jackie," he repeated. "I'm a friend."

There was that hollow look again. She didn't know him. Wheeljack raked a hand through his hair. Back to simple conversation. "Are you warm?"

"Yes," she said, and Wheeljack's jaw ticked, knowing how cold her fingers were.

"Are you comfortable?"

Her eyes drifted again before she gave a soft sigh and seemed to sink down around the pillows. His hands clenched. She was slipping again.

"I've done all I can to keep you warm and comfortable," he said softly. He reached out to take her hand again. She looked, but did nothing to resist him. Thumb stroking tenderly over the back of her hand, Wheeljack squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. "Sometimes, I don't think it's enough, that there should be something more I can do, but I can't. There's nothing I can do, and that frustrates me so bad, Babe. I wish I could help you, but . . . I can't. I'm powerless."

Her eyes were drifting again. She was staring at the colors in her room. He lifted her limp hand and kissed her fingertips. He held her hand to his face, throat working hard. "You've got a lot of people who love you, Miko. Primus you've got so many people that love you . . . and care for you . . . and your life was full of love. And you loved so much. You were spirited, full of energy and life, as volatile as a bomb. You were a handful, but, I think that's why people loved you so much." The tears were slipping out against his will again. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

"I love you so much, Miko. With all my spark. I miss hearing you play your guitar. I miss your laughter, your smiles, and your teasing . . ." He sucked in a harsh breath. "But I won't ever give up on you," he whispered. "You're my sweet spark, my strength, and my baby girl. And I love you, Miko, from the depths of my spark. I always will . . ."

He stayed quiet for a moment, holding her hand that she had no strength to move. Heaving a ragged breath, he shook his head, trying to shake off his mood. "I have a good story," he said, vowing to retell one of her favorites. He lifted his head, looking at her. "It's one of your—"

His throat closed off. She stared unseeing at him, a look that almost equaled affectionate curiosity frozen on her face. Wheeljack dropped her cold hand like it was on fire, and he jolted backwards on his feet, knocking over his chair.

Strangled breaths crowed his throat.

"M-Miko?"

She didn't answer. She didn't blink. Her honey eyes were glazed over, and her chest was unmoving. A part of him realized what happened. He felt his spark begin to burn hot with raw agony even as his processor stalled against reality.

"M-Miko? Miko, Primus please, don't do this . . ." His shaking hand reached out to her, and he stroked her thin white hair back, hot tears stinging his eyes. "Miko please . . . Please . . ." The tears began to drip when she was unresponsive. His holoform began to crackle and fizzle with the effort it took to keep it materialized as he rapidly felt himself growing weaker and weaker. A sob wrenched from his throat.

"Miko! Miko, Miko please—!" He bent over her, hands taking either side of her head and bowing over to rest his forehead against hers. "Primus please no . . . No, Miko . . ."

His arms constricted around her, holding her to his chest desperately as his holoform glitched, beginning to dissipate. Her head fell back, and he buried his face into her collarbone, unwilling to believe she was gone after all this time.

"Miko . . ." he groaned. "Oh Primus, Miko . . . PLEASE . . ."

His cries attracted the attention of a nurse. He felt hands on his shoulders and a voice, but he didn't register what she was saying. There was no use to pry him off her to check her vitals. Her body had ceased to function.

Accepting it broke him. A harsh sob wrenched from Wheeljack as the holoform finally dissolved fully, and his real body in the parking lot transformed, lurching unsteadily to his peds. A cry broke from his vocalizer, and he stumbled away from the building, servos beginning to shake violently as his spark began to rapidly shut down without the one who had band-aided his fractures in the first place.

"Ratchet—Ratch—" Somehow, he had the logic to contact the medic. He didn't know why. Maybe he just didn't want to die alone in this parking lot. Something in his voice must have tipped him off, because the ground bridge blasted open and Ratchet came rushing out.

His knees gave out. He fell to the ground thunderously, a despairing moan tearing from his throat. Ratchet's servos gripped beneath his pits and hauled him to his peds. "Wheeljack! Wheeljack, stay with me. You hear me? You're going to be okay."

Another sob spilled from him. Amongst his broken weeping, Ratchet could make out Miko's name and pleading. Wheeljack felt himself laid on his back on a medical berth, and his servos gripped his helm, system keening weakly as vital functions began to shut down.

Then, he felt his spark seize in cardiac arrest. Ratchet was back in a flash with a shout, and Wheeljack felt his spark chamber doors popped open.

And honestly? He didn't care. His mind began to drift as he teetered at death's door. This pain was only temporary, wasn't it? He was going to see Miko again soon, so it was all going to be okay . . . And not just Miko, he'd get to see Twin Twist and Topspin again. Primus knew he was excited to see those two pranksters again. He'd get to tell them about Cybertron's restoration. And Pyro—he could finally apologize properly to Pyro for his mistakes. Bulkhead. Primus, he was going to see his best friend again.

And suddenly, he wasn't so afraid of death. He welcomed it.

As if through a tunnel, he heard his name cried out. Above him, he saw the hazy form of Arcee hovering above him, the blue glow of sparks shedding light around her. His throat filled with a lump. Surely she could understand . . . He had so many to see, to talk to, to make it up to . . .

_I'm sorry, Arcee . . . You deserve so much better . . ._

Servo's grabbed him. Someone pushed against his countenance and Wheeljack felt himself yanked away from oblivion.

There was a violent, shocking surge, and then, the darkness overwhelmed him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

***giant wall of text***

**So... I've known from the beginning how this story was going to end. No fears! There's still another chapter, and I did promise you a happy ending. (Maybe bittersweet, but hopeful. It's a good ending.) And, I've had this planned out for a long time. The very end with Miko, I mean, not all the beauty that happened with her family. I honestly made all that up and was darned pleased with the children (I effing love her children) and if the mood suits me, I might try to throw some one-shots about all the stuff that I sorta breezed over in this giant time skip.**

**And... I was surprised at how HARD it was to write this chapter. Like... I suppose it hit a little close to home for me since my both my grandparents had Alzheimer's... but this was the first time I legitimately CRIED while writing a story. Sure, I've teared up before, maybe had a couple tears slip out, but nothing like this. I literally had to put down my computer and CRY when I wrote the moment that Wheeljack realized he lost Miko. I had to blow my nose, my eyes were red, I was lucky it was night and my mom didn't come in and ask me why I was crying.**

**I... This chapter was just HARD to write. I almost couldn't write it, it was that hard. I kept having to put it down (which is why, after almost a week of parroting that this chapter was almost done, you finally get it.) I've been emotionally drained, so I've been sleeping like crazy. In short, I didn't realize how much it was going to effect me, but in the end, I knew this was how OHOS had to end.**

**I thought about changing it, but it would honestly be a cop out. I'd been talking about Miko's mortality in this story for a long time now, becoming more and more prevalent with each passing chapter. And this is Wheeljack's final test. If he can accept her death. Wheeljack's never been able to accept death around him even though it's a natural part of life, so this is where the core of his character growth is centered. And yeah, shit happens in life and you can't keep people from dying. But he knows that Miko felt fulfilled and happy with her life and didn't regret and instant of it.**

**Well... I DID promise a happy ending. You might call it semi-happy, or bittersweet, but there's a strong root of hope in it, which is what I think Wheeljack needs the most. So bear with me, hang with me, this next chapter is going to be worth it in the end. Even though I'm a little emotionally drained, I hope to get it up soon so you won't have to be left with this chapter. I've got tissues and milk and cookies for all my wounded readers, so take as you please. There are also a couple axes too, but I hope you won't use those on me. Place your hearts in the jars for my collection.**

**(Oh yes. And I LOST COUNT of how many kids I had running around, so I stopped naming them and got a bit generalized about them. I stopped counting at 13 babies. XD )**


	73. Unbroken Promises

**Author's Note:**

**AAAAHHHH I HIT 1000 REVIEWS! *throws confetti* Show some love to Bumbles Baby for being my 1000 reviewer! *heart***

**Much love to my newest fav/followers Grayson's Redoubt, Bumbles Baby, nikikt, ThornWolf the Loyal, bluephoenix65069, SJprurry, AutoTechnoCon98, and shadybabe101!**

**And as always, milk and cookies and oodles of love to my reviewers! Bumbles Baby, Nonny, Fox Crimson, Lola, tonifoni, Guest, SnowHawk0316, couriosity, two more Guests, Mazamba, Zypherion-DeathNova, Neon, Foxbear, SpaceFerrari, Words Infinity, enmused, The Cybertonium Warrior, Arceegirl4evr, BossBot97, Kuurankukka, nikikt, Katie Gibbs, ZabuzasGirl, Fanatic97, AutoTechnoCon98, Sounddrive, Filly92, shadybabe101, Autobot Chromia, Spiritstrike, Miko873, and Eyrmia! (all my silent peeps came out of the woodworks! :) )**

**Without further ado, please enjoy the closing chapter of OHOS! :)**

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><p>A shrill scream cut through the room.<p>

Shortly after, another shriek tore from her.

No one moved to help her. Not that they could, anyways.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Another piercing cry split the room.

Warm laughter spilled from the father of the tyke.

"Higher, Daddy, higher!"

"You want to go higher?" Wheeljack growled. He nuzzled her stomach, making the sparkling squeal and kick as he tickled her. "Then we'll just see how high you fly!"

She shrieked again as Wheeljack tossed her up high. She inherited the inverse colors of her parents, predominantly pink but with white and blue accents. Arms and legs flailed some as she dropped back into Wheeljack's arms, but big blue optics looked up at him with adoration, framed by giant audios that seemed too big for her head.

Grinning, Wheeljack dipped her head to the ground and whipped her back upright. Tossing his sparkling up high again, she screamed with delight all the way up and all the way back down. Wheeljack laughed heartily and tickled her again, taking spark in the sound of her laughter.

However, when he threw her up high again, different hands intercepted her before he could. Arcee hefted the sparkling on her hip, frowning crossly at Wheeljack. The mech in question smirked at her expression.

"Oh, come on, Angel, I wasn't going to drop her!"

"And you're not going to drop her because I think that's quite high enough," she said on a huff.

The sparkling kicked her peds and wiggled in Arcee's arms. "Where's Uncle Springer? He's always on Earth! He's coming today?"

"He's coming soon, Volatile," Arcee said with a small smile to the sparkling. She sat her on her peds, saying, "Megatronus is finger painting, Volatile. How about you go play with him until Springer gets here?"

Volatile gasped, exclaiming, "I want to finger paint!" and began to toddle off immediately. She tripped once across the hangar, falling on her face, but she doggedly got back up without any prompting to where the blue and white mech sat painting on cardboard.

Wheeljack smiled at the sight of his daughter asking to play with Megatronus, and the older mech helping her with the paints and a clean sheet of cardboard paper. Across the room, Ratchet was running a check up on Elita who was sparked with her second child, this time a girl. The proud father stood off to the side with his brother, both mechs only half watching the children; the topic of conversation seemed to be Bumblebee who was growing up trying his hardest to uphold all of Optimus' teachings.

Arcee put her servos on her hips and arched a brow at Wheeljack. Her spark mate just grinned haplessly. "Wheeljack—"

"I know what you're gonna say, Angel, and don't you worry your head off," he cut her off before she could start again. He scooped her up and buttered her up more by placing teasing kisses on her neck that made her squirm. "C'mon, Elita and Orion are already on their second child, we've gotta catch up someday, Arcee."

She finally wiggled from his grasp and straightened her armor, throwing a glance over her shoulder at the others in the room. When no one seemed to notice or really care, she looked back at him with a disgruntled expression, pursing up her lips. "Wheeljack, this isn't a competition."

"Of COURSE not!" Wheeljack exclaimed with exaggerated agreement. Arcee rolled her optics at his sarcasm. "Hey, it's doctor's orders, right?" Wheeljack spread his servos innocently. "The more babies—"

"The more bonds, and the stronger your spark, yes," Arcee said with another optic roll, this one so pronounced that her optics practically disappeared into her head. She smiled however, a long-suffering but amused smile as she crossed her arms. "Give me a little bit longer before we have another," she pleaded, "I'm still reeling from just having Volatile, and if the next comes out with the same personality, we'll never be able to keep up with them."

"Aw, c'mon, she's not THAT bad," Wheeljack defended her with a grin. Both parents looked over to the kids at the same time. They witnessed a small scene where Volatile tried to pick up the bucket of lime green paint to dump it on herself and give herself a new paintjob while Megatronus jumped to his peds in a panic to stop her. Wheeljack cringed with a sheepish grin.

"Okay, maybe she's a handful."

The edge of Arcee's lip quirked up, and she reached around him for a tight hug. Wheeljack returned the affectionate gesture happily, his mending spark practically humming at the proximity. She kissed his chassis. For a minute, they just stood entwined, and Wheeljack sighed, absently stroking one of Arcee's winglets.

He really was the aft of a lifetime. He had scared her bad when Miko had died, but it turned out that the one thing he was so afraid of? It was the best remedy. He had been avoiding making bonds with people because breaking them would exacerbate his spark more, but in reality, creating bonds would be the thing that would save him. The bonds would strengthen his failing spark, so Ratchet had immediately inferred that the larger his family, the better.

Thus, after Arcee forced their sparks to merge while he was literally on his death bed, Springer opted to make their brothers-in-arms relationship more and actually become brothers-in-spark. And with Cybertron at peace and beginning to flourish again, there was far less of a chance for the tragedies of the past since the war was over.

Wheeljack shrugged suddenly and grinned.

"Besides, Miko ordered an army of mini-Jackie's, but I think we can settle for a football team full. We'll have to get working on the mini-JACKIE bit since that girl's the spitting image of you."

Arcee snorted on a laugh, leaning back to laugh at him, "Oh please, she inherited your audios, and on top of that, she is all YOU."

They looked back over to the playing kids. Now Volatile had her hands covered in paint and was complaining about the brown and dark colors she kept getting when she mixed the colors. Megatronus was busy telling her not to mix the colors while Volatile told him to shut up and she was going to figure out why the colors kept making different colors.

Arcee frowned. "Volatile," she called out, "use your nice words!"

"It was nice!" the sparkling hollered back. "I didn't say stuff it!"

Wheeljack barely stifled a laugh while Arcee groaned and pinched her olfactory system. "That's YOUR daughter," she muttered.

Lips twitching, Wheeljack lifted his voice across the room to shout the age-old montage. "Volatile, language!"

"O-KAY."

Wheeljack pointed a finger at Arcee. "The sass is from you."

It had been . . . surprisingly easy to come to grips with the fact that Miko was gone. He wasn't sure why it had been easiest, out of all his loved ones he had lost, to let go of her. Maybe it was because she had asked him to. She had prepared him, lived her life to the fullest, and loved him to the end. He thought perhaps, most likely, that it was because her death was natural in coming and she hadn't been taken from him early. She had died peacefully, and it was all he could ask for.

He also began to finally learn to properly mourn. After watching his grandkids go too, he began to understand the concept of letting go. Instead of dwelling in the past, Wheeljack finally found himself living in the present, taking delight in the lives around him as long as he had them here. He also had just become a great-great-great-grandfather, and he was excited and loved everyone. Since he lived on Cybertron, he didn't get to see Miko's family as often, but they still retained their close relationship.

And, possibly most importantly . . . He hadn't disappointed Miko. This time, even though it took him to the brink of death, he hadn't broken his promise to her. And he knew that wherever she was now, she was shining down on him from heaven. And maybe, maybe for a change, SHE was proud of HIM.

"Wheeljack!" The Wrecker looked up to see Ratchet pointing to the berth Elita was evacuating. "You're next. Get over here and don't cause me any problems this time."

Wheeljack lifted his hands in surrender. "Ease up on the gas, Doc! I've been perfectly well behaved!"

He and Arcee migrated over to the medical area as Ratchet grumbled under his breath about his given nickname. Elita suddenly gasped as Wheeljack settled on the medical berth, and she turned towards Orion and grabbed his servos.

"Orion, I've got it." A mischievous smile tugged at her mouth. "We want to name her after Magnus, don't we? Well, I've got it! How about we name her Maggie?"

Magnus' optics widened, and he said, "A human name?" at the same time rich laughter poured from Orion. Her spark mate grinned at her, saying, "I like it! What do you think, Magnus?"

Before he could answer, Volatile came stomping back from where she and Megatronus were playing, and she put her servos on her hips, not unlike her mother. She stamped her foot, saying, "Mom! Dad! Megatronus is hogging the colors!"

Orion frowned, and before he could say anything to Megatronus, Wheeljack cut in with, "He's hogging the colors? That's not fair. So you go back and tell him that there's plenty to share and don't take no for an answer. Just because he's older than you doesn't mean he can push you around, all right? Now, go assert yourself!"

Volatile brightened at that, bursting, "Okay!" and hurrying back over to Megatronus.

While Ratchet ran a few more scans on Wheeljack's spark, Arcee winked at him, saying, "Good advice, Wheeljack. Men like it when women assert themselves."

He frowned at her. He pointed his finger. "Now hey, don't you go playing match—" He choked in the middle of his sentence, optics rounding as he suddenly realized exactly what he was saying. "WHAT? Volatile! Get back here!"

He interrupted her talking to Megatronus with her servos on her hips. She came back hesitantly, exclaiming in frustration, "But I thought you wanted me to assert myself!"

"I changed my mind!" he barked, annoyed at the thought of his daughter getting involved with anyone.

Arcee was openly laughing at him along with Elita, and she patted her daughter's shoulder. "Don't you listen to your father, you're fine, Volatile," she said. "Now go on and play."

She brightened and her audios flexed. "Okay!"

Volatile toddled back off, and Ratchet huffed. "Well, you check out again, Wheeljack. I—"

"Of course I do," Wheeljack interrupted with a snort. He closed his spark chamber and stood with a stretch. "C'mon, Doc, you need to wind down. Why don't you go finger paint with the kids?"

Ratchet sputtered for a moment, unable to find a proper response before he shot back haughtily, "Unless you'd like a colored handprint across your face—"

"Or your aft," Arcee suddenly added. "I still owe you for that."

"Hey now!" Wheeljack interjected, holding up his hands. "Why's everyone ganging up on me all the sudden? And you!" He whirled to a smug-looking Arcee. "You can't still be nursing that one, are you?"

Arcee crossed her arms and shrugged. "Of course I am."

Wheeljack tossed his servos up. "But—C'mon! I had my memories wiped! Cut me some slack!"

"Oh, don't even give me that," Arcee said, lips twitching against a smile. She poked his chassis. "You'd still do it now in perfect health."

Wheeljack considered this. "Touché."

His optics caught the sight of green across the old hangar. Wheeljack opened his mouth to shout, but Springer rapidly motioned for him to keep quiet. Wheeljack snickered as he watched Springer skulk around the hangar until he was behind Volatile. Megatronus noticed him, but with a finger to the lips, Springer kept the boy quiet. Wiggling his aft like a cat ready to pounce, Springer crouched and spread his fingers.

Leaping over them, Springer snatched up Volatile as he soared over their play space. Volatile screamed with delight as Springer surprise-attack tickled her. His propellers fanned wide on his back as he growled at her, "Who's my favorite little niece?"

Volatile shrieked in between her laughter. "I'm your only niece!"

Megatronus leapt to his peds, wiping his hands on a towel to get rid of excess paint before jumping on top of their little pile. "Springer! Hi! Want to see my painting? I painted Ratchet this time!"

Springer grabbed both sparklings with his servos, hoisting them up by stretching his arms straight. Flat on his back, Springer grinned at them. "That so? Now tell me, is it an accurate picture of the mad Doc? Red optics and devil horns?"

Megatronus giggled with Volatile when Springer wiggled them. "No! Ratchet's not like that!"

The annoyed medic sighed and looked to the ceiling, entreating to Primus, "That child is an angel." To Megatronus, he shouted, "You are a miracle, Megatronus! Don't ever change!"

"I won't!"

"Yes you will!" Volatile laughed, kicking her legs. "You'll get old and rusty and cranky like Ratchet!"

The medic grumbled, pinching his brow and muttering under his breath, "And that child is of the devil . . ." He glared at Wheeljack, causing the father only to laugh harder.

Springer grinned, and he tweaked both the kids' audios, one pair reminiscent of Wheeljack and the other pair reminiscent of Optimus. Sitting up, he placed the kiddos on their peds, saying, "All right, show me these masterpieces of yours!"

Elita smiled as Springer crouched down with the kids to look at their art, and she patted the disgruntled Ratchet's shoulder. "Don't worry yourself, Ratchet. And smile! Wheeljack's right about you needing to relax."

Ratchet straightened his armor with a small huff, defending himself with, "I AM relaxed, Elita."

Elita and Orion grinned knowing smiles at him, making Ratchet look to Ultra Magnus for help. He shrugged his massive shoulders and shook his head. "I am not about to try to disagree with those two," he said simply.

Wheeljack grinned and punched Ratchet's shoulder. "See, Doc? It's unanimous! You've got a stick in your afterburner!"

Ratchet whirled with a hot retort, but instead there was a smack of metal against metal and a shouted, "Ow! Volatile!" along with a growled, "Hey!"

The culprit of the trouble squalled angrily as Springer yanked her up by one of her wing kibble, carrying her back to her parents. "I believe this one is yours," Springer grumbled to Wheeljack. He hiked a brow up as he deposited Volatile face-first into Wheeljack's waiting servo. "Punched Megatronus right good. She's got her mother's right hook."

Wheeljack grunted, grabbed Volatile's leg and hoisted her upside down at face level. The stubborn sparkling crossed her arms and pursed her lips as Wheeljack shook her. "All right, what'd you punch him for, Volatile?"

"He said his painting was better than mine!" Volatile shouted, energon filling her cheeks with indignation.

Wheeljack shook her again, but she didn't budge from her unrepentant position. "I've told you once, I've told you twice, Volatile, you don't hit people."

"He always acts like he's better than me!" Volatile yelled, her free leg kicking a little. "And he's not!"

Across the way, Orion was knelt with Megatronus who had his helm tucked down while his father spoke with him. Compared to the two hot tempers across the room, his punishment was much easier taken care of. Megatronus listened dutifully to his father who was saying, "Both works of art are equally fantastic, Megatronus. While yours is attentive to detail and shows hard work, Volatile's is fully of passion and experimentation. We appreciate both kinds of art and don't put others down. Right?"

Megatronus cast a look to his picture of Ratchet and the smears of browns and purples and splashes of color that indicated Volatile's masterpiece. He frowned a little at the nonsensical artwork, but nodded. "Yes, Father."

Unable to talk Volatile down, Wheeljack shook her again, threatening, "You want to visit Miko's family today, right?" Her arms slackened a little from their crossed position, and her audios tilted back a little in submission. When she pressed her lips stubbornly, Wheeljack gave her a little shake. "Right?"

"Yes," she finally muttered, looking away.

"Then you've got to behave," Wheeljack reminded her. Finally, seeing that she had had enough and was giving in, Wheeljack flipped her upright. "So. Are you going to apologize to Megatronus?"

She wrinkled her olfactory system. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

If possible, she made an even more annoyed face. "Okay."

Wheeljack sat her back down on her peds, and Volatile walked up to Megatronus. Her face continued to stay pinched. "Sorry," she all but spat at him.

"Nicely," Wheeljack cut in. "Mean it, Volatile."

Since her back was to him, Volatile gave a huge optic roll, thinking she would get away with it. However, Orion—crouched next to Megatron—lifted one disapproving brow to her. She flushed brightly and looked to the ground, muttering a chagrined, "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for hitting you."

Megatronus nodded, also looking at the floor. "I'm sorry for saying my picture was better. Yours is good too."

Volatile nodded. Orion bopped Megatronus' bottom, saying, "Now go on and play some more, you two."

As he walked away, Volatile suddenly announced, "I don't want to play anymore," and effectively excused herself from the area. Wheeljack watched as his daughter walked to the opposite end of the base and sat down near the door, looking out. She hitched up her legs and sat in a ball, chin resting on her knees. A small smile softened his optics.

When Springer moved to go to her, Wheeljack grabbed him and shook his head. "I think I'll take this one," he said, nodding his head his way.

Wheeljack walked across the base as they began to chatter again about naming the newspark Maggie Magnus. He crouched next to his daughter, and when she didn't respond, he nudged her. "Hey now. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

He watched her lips purse. "Yes," she said stubbornly, "it was."

His lips twitched at her indignation. "What, so now you're going to pout?"

Her wing kibble tensed. "I'm not pouting," she muttered sulkily.

Now he really had to resist a smile. Ignoring if she was going to squirm, Wheeljack picked her up, saying, "C'mere. We need to have a talk, you and me." Sitting her on his hip and walking from the hangar into the Nevada sun. Wheeljack glanced down at her. "Have I ever told you who you were named after?"

Volatile suddenly perked up with interest. "I'm named after someone?" she asked.

Wheeljack grinned. "You sure are. She was a lot like you, actually. Unpredictable, a hot temper, and just as stubborn!" He softened his words by tickling her, making Volatile squeal and kick, pushing his servo away. "You see, her personality, her very spark was extremely volatile, combustible and unpredictable, so I named you after what I loved about her most."

Volatile looked up at him with big blue optics. "Who was she?"

Wheeljack let his head rear back as if she had personally offended him. "You mean you don't know? I named you after your big sister, Miko!"

Her jaw dropped and her optics popped. "Miko was my big sister?" she gasped.

"She sure was!" Wheeljack said on a grin, poking her chassis.

"But she was a human!"

Wheeljack laughed warmly, sitting down with Volatile in the sand. "She sure was! I haven't told you enough stories about Miko, but now that you're old enough, I think you can understand. I've got a million stories about Miko, but we'll have to start at the beginning. It's a tragedy, but it's also the start of a beautiful story . . ."

Volatile settled in eagerly for another of Wheeljack's entrancing stories, however, the glare of the sun against metal flicked in her optics. Glancing out over the sand as her father began to tell the story, she saw an old human. He was leaning against an old red pickup truck and smoked on a cigar. His boots looked like they had seen better days, and he tipped up his cowboy hat so she could see his eyes.

He winked at her, and with a strong wind, blew into dust.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**AHAHAHAAHA BITE ME! :D But seriously, I do promise in all seriousness that I have NO IDEA who the Chief is. I think he's just an OC, maybe a guardian angel Cybertronian style or something...**

**And I confess, more than once I nearly wrote "Miko" instead of "Volatile". *sinks into a puddle of tears***

**BUT THE FLUFF. ENJOY IT. I even brought back Springer! Uncle Springer! AND I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THE IDEA OF MAGGIE MAGNUS. *flails***

**BUT OMG IT'S FINALLY OVER. After 767 pages of NO SPACING (which is 1,517 pages double spaced) and 391,923 words, 2 and a half years, OHOS is finished. It's got it's pitfalls like any other story, but it's full of feels. I've got some massive plot holes here and there (LIKE WHAT HAPPENED TO SHOCKWAVE AFTER ALL THE SHIT HE DID, I FREAKING FORGOT ABOUT SHOCKWAVE! HOW DOES A PERSON DO THAT?) But I guess things like that can lead way into the sequel that I'm considering more and more. I want to see some of the new cartoon before I attempt something though to decide if I'm going to line it up with 2015 RID or just go my own way. (So yeah, since I've been thinking about it the way I have and I've even got the sketchings of the start of a plot, it'll probably happen at some point.)**

**But oh my gosh, I am really really gonna miss this story. This has been a fun, hilarious, feelsy, and happy run, and I'm glad it ended on this high note! Wheeljack's grown a lot in this story, and I have to admit, while I think this story started off with me thinking Miko was the very center of attention and main character, I think it was really Wheeljack's story all alone. It's good to finally see him happy in both mind and soul, and see him at peace with himself!**

***waves* Well, that's that! Thanks for reading, and I hope my next stories will be even more entertaining than this!**


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